


Forging Destiny

by barbitone



Series: Merlin Fanfiction [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Adventure, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Apprentice - Freeform, Apprenticeship, BAMF Merlin, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fae & Fairies, First Kiss, M/M, Magic, Prophesy, canon era AU, girl!gwaine, the once and future king, woman!gwaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13156887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: Nimueh told him to make a sword, so he made a sword, all right? Though that’s strong words for stealing a sword from a nearby smithy and asking Kilgharrah to breathe fire on it. And then Camelot was sacked and the Pendragon line ended and he’d had to hide the sword away and – well Merlin really didn’t like to think about the whole thing.Time passed, things happened, and Merlin was not at all prepared for a young knight named Arthur to come asking about the blasted sword. He’s a bit of a clot, sure, but there’s something about him. Merlin can’t quite put his finger on it.





	Forging Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in the making for a truly ridiculous amount of time. Thank you so much, [nomical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomical/pseuds/nomical), for being around since the beginning. If it wasn't for you, this fic wouldn't be nearly as coherent as it is. Thank you for your beta-ing, couldn't have done it without you!

 

  _map created by[versaphile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/versaphile/pseuds/versaphile)_

 

 

**Tournament - Midwinter**

*******

Cenred stood and spread his arms wide, plastering a grin onto his face that didn’t look fake to the people sitting at the feast tables throughout the great hall. Merlin knew better. The merry-making hushed as Cenred began his fourth speech of the night. Merlin suppressed a groan as he rubbed at his temples as discreetly as possible. Being Cenred’s Court Sorcerer was tedious enough _without_ having to hear the man speak about the greatness of Essetir. He reminded himself grimly that it was only the first night of the midwinter tournament and pretended to listen.

There was a toast once Cenred was finished and Merlin took a sip from his goblet with a thin smile. He slipped away as soon as it was appropriate, going up to the ramparts to look out over the city and breathe the crisp fresh air. He had several blissful minutes of peace before he heard someone join him. He looked over to see one of the contestants – a knight errant who couldn’t be older than seventeen and whose name Merlin couldn’t remember. His hair shone just as brightly in the moonlight as it had in the sunshine of day as he’d fought without a helm, moving quick as lightning.

He was handsome with a strong jaw and a fine, though crooked, nose. The way he was clutching at the hilt of the sword at his waist belied a sense of coarseness, or maybe uncertainty, and Merlin had no care for either. Merlin quickly found he had no interest whatsoever in the knight. He pursed his lips and glared in an attempt to ward the young man away, only for the fool to frown and take a step closer.

“You should go back to the hall,” Merlin said. “Speak flatteries to Cenred. If you win the tournament he may offer you a place at his court, or lands in his kingdom.” _And if he trusts you he’ll not send “bandits” after you on the road home, to ensure your winnings purse lies empty and your sword-arm crippled,_ he didn’t say. Merlin was sure the little fool wouldn’t believe him either way, and explaining the way the world worked was not worth the effort.

“I didn’t come here for that,” the young man said.

“What did you come for, then?” Merlin asked, more irritated than intrigued. He had more to worry about than the tournament and Cenred’s silly posturing. There was a strange illness going through the lower town, and ravens bringing dark news of gathering necromancers in the west, and three experimental healing potions bubbling in his tower. Not to mention whatever monstrosity of an illusion he’d be expected to perform at the opening of the second day of the tournament.

“I came here to talk to you,” the young man said, cutting into Merlin’s thoughts.

“To _me_?” Merlin said, frowning harder.

“You’re the wizard called Emrys?” the boy asked, standing straight with pride, exuding an air of nobility through his very presence. Merlin stayed silent, and the illusion of nobility was promptly shattered as the young man wrinkled up his nose and asked, “well are you or aren’t you?”

“Some call me Emrys,” Merlin said.

“They say you’re the most powerful wizard to walk the Earth,” the young man continued.

Merlin frowned. “Yes, I suppose they do. What do you want?” he asked bluntly, too tired for courtesies.

The young man paused. His fingers tightened over the hilt of his sword and then relaxed; he took a deep but quiet breath. “They say there’s a sword, and whoever wields it is the rightful ruler of Albion. It’s trapped in a stone and no one can pull it out. Do you know of it?”

Merlin sighed, his mood growing darker. He’d created the sword at Nimueh’s bidding many years ago, when the Queen of Camelot had conceived a son. Though now Igraine was dead, and Uther mad with grief and locked away in some dungeon, and Camelot a mere shade of itself – the city a smoking ruin and the remainder a minor fiefdom of Bayard’s kingdom. The heir was lost, but of course the sword remained. What was made could not be unmade, and it had been too powerful to leave on the belt of some common knight or in some king’s treasure room. Merlin had had to hide it away where no one but its rightful owner, not even Merlin himself, could reach it. It was all a bit of a failed dream and Merlin didn’t like to dwell on it. Arrogant little pricks asking about it wasn’t anything new, and he’d quickly learned to nip that question in the bud.

“No,” Merlin said, in a tone that did not invite discussion. “Now, it’s rather late, and I’m due for an early night.” He still could not remember the knight-errant’s name and so he said, “Good night, child,” on the way back down the stairs.

“I’m not a child!” the knight’s indignant answer echoed behind him.

Merlin paid it no heed, the strange conversation already mostly forgotten. He still had a nights-worth of work to do.

 

***

 

The morning dawned bright and cool and Merlin cursed the gods that he had to be awake so early. Most of all he cursed Cenred and his stupid grin, but through some miracle resisted the desire to turn the man into a toad. He had to grit his teeth as Cenred invited his court sorcerer to “do some tricks” and then stood from his seat to create some lazy illusion that nonetheless left the spectators gasping in delight.

After that his only duty was to stay in attendance, though no one paid much attention to him. He managed to doze off a few times, only to awake unpleasantly disoriented and simultaneously incredibly disgruntled. To his own irritation Merlin constantly caught himself searching for the young knight that had spoken to him the night before. He turned out to be rather difficult to miss.

He was still amongst the competitors, was doing well in all of his matches. He fought without a helm, his golden hair dazzling in the arena, his movements certain and his blade well-honed. Merlin wasn’t much of an expert where sword-fighting was concerned, but the young man fought like no one Merlin had ever seen. He danced around his opponents, letting them tire themselves out before pressing forward in a flurry of motion, attacking with surprisingly vicious and well-timed blows until they were flat on their backs and raising their hands in surrender. There was something wild and off-balance about him, and he defeated men twice his size with ease.

Which didn’t do much to quell Merlin’s general irritation. He spent the whole day oscillating between annoyance and tedium, until finally the evening gong was sounded and Cenred invited the five best fighters to dine with him in the great hall. The blond knight was, of course, among them once again.

This time around Merlin didn’t bother staying very long at all. He slipped out of the hall immediately after Cenred’s speech and headed up to his chambers. He’d made it nearly fifty paces before the knight was at his elbow, walking in step.

Merlin sighed. “What?” he asked.

“See, I think you _do_ know of it,” the young man said without preamble. “If you’re the most powerful wizard in the land, you _must_ know of it. There are even some who say you made it.”

Merlin wanted to cry at the disappointment of another thick-skulled knight trying to pry the secret of the blasted sword out of him. Instead of crying he gritted his teeth and started to walk faster.

“Well what do you want with it, then?” he muttered darkly.

The knight sped up, of course, matching him step by step. “I just want to know more!” he exclaimed. “Anything, really!”

“Pah! _Anything!_ ” Merlin said, throwing his hands up. “I can’t help you find it, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“I can find it fine!” the knight bit out. “I just need to know how to pull it out, alright?”

Merlin stopped abruptly when the words pierced his skull, and the young knight had already walked past before realizing the wizard he’d been hounding was now behind him.

Merlin had often dreamed that the heir of Camelot had simply been lost, and would some day return to reclaim the sword. Still, the knight was several years too young to fit the role – and even if he hadn’t been, Merlin had seen the infant’s body mounted on a spike on the castle walls, felt the rift in the fabric of magic when he’d been murdered. It was impossible, but the hope had never quite been extinguished.

“You can… find it,” Merlin repeated slowly.

The young man frowned. “Well any idiot can _find_ it, can’t they?”

“Right,” Merlin said. “And where is it, then?”

“It’s sticking up out of a rock in the throne room in Camelot! Where _else_ would it be?” the young man practically yelled.

Merlin had scryed Camelot many times, and he knew for certain there had been no rock and no sword anywhere. There was only burnt and twisted rubble covered with moss and mildew, and shambling skeletons keeping watchful guard.

Merlin paused and finally looked at the young man before him. His face was red and his hair messy; his body was lean but strong, on the cusp of adulthood. Merlin was expecting some sort of dawning recognition or perhaps a vision of the future- but the knight was just a young man, glowering at him in irritation.

“What’s your name?” Merlin asked.

“Arthur,” the knight answered testily.

“Arthur of…” Merlin prompted.

Arthur only grew more red, his face becoming pinched in anger or maybe embarrassment. “Arthur of _nowhere_ alright?  My father was a blacksmith and my mother a seamstress, and I’ve got no learning but what I’ve picked up on the road – and I’d _still_ make a better king than this lot of fools!” Arthur waved his hand vaguely, indicating Cenred, or perhaps all the kings in the land.

Merlin wasn't sure if he wanted to smile or wince at the young man spouting treason for anyone to hear.

“I know I sound mad,” Arthur continued, “but you’ve got to help me. You’ve _got_ to!”

The boy was lying, surely. Anyone could come up with a place the sword _might_ be, that didn’t mean they would be able to actually find it, much less draw and wield it. Still, there was something about him, something trustworthy and naïve. He did not give off the impression of a liar.

“Good luck at the tournament tomorrow,” Merlin said in a kinder tone than he’d used all night, and then let his hand rest warmly on Arthur’s shoulder for a moment before making his way back to his rooms. This time Arthur didn’t follow him.

 

***

 

Merlin didn’t find himself dreading the third and final day of the tournament quite as much as he had the last two. He took more joy in the illusions that were his contribution to the opening ceremonies, adding a dragon and a pride of lions this time around.

He watched as the remaining competitors – Cenred’s knights, mostly – fought on the field. Arthur was among them, his head bare of any helm as always. He fought as well as he had before, though since he was now matched against stronger opponents Merlin supposed he may have been fighting better. He made it to the semi-finals before one of Cenred’s knights dealt a blow to his chest that created a huge dent in his plate armor. Merlin couldn’t help but wince at the awful crunch of it, an unexpected sense of concern flaring up in his chest. Arthur won nevertheless, though when he left the field he was curled in on himself, arms cradling his torso.

Merlin discretely slipped away from his seat and headed to the tents set up for the competitors. It was easier to find Arthur than it should have been, though Merlin chose not to think about why that was.

He entered the tent to see Arthur sitting pale and shivering on a cot, trying to unbuckle his warped armor. Merlin strode over confidently, smoothed the plate back into its original form before Arthur had even noticed he was there.

“You do know that knights generally wear a helm to protect them from head injuries?” Merlin asked, placing his fingertips against Arthur’s brow. His skin was damp with sweat and feverish to the touch.

“I don’t think head injuries are one of my main problems right now,” Arthur gritted out through the pain he must have been in. “Besides, I don’t like having my vision impeded.”

Merlin sensed internal bleeding and pulled it to a stop, repaired torn muscles and soothed the worst of the bruises. If Arthur noticed the magic coursing through him, he said nothing.

“I hear getting your head chopped off also impedes your vision,” Merlin said, finally drawing his hand away. Arthur only blushed and looked down, missing Merlin’s smile. “Good luck in the final match,” Merlin said, and left. He cast a simple charm to ensure that no one had seen him. Helping a competitor that didn’t belong to Cendred was probably a bit of a treason, after all. A small one.

The beginning of the final match seemed to take ages, and then finally Cenred’s champion – one of his largest and most imposing knights – took the field. Arthur stepped on shortly after – still not wearing a helmet, the foolish clod. He seemed to be moving easier than before, though. He tried a few experimental swings of his sword to limber up and then Cenred was raising his hand, and the fight began.

It started off like all the rest of Arthur’s fights had. He kept himself out of the way of his opponent’s mighty swings, and then pressed in for the attack. His speed seemed to be failing him, though, and Merlin noticed Arthur leaving more and more openings for the huge knight. Merlin was no expert in sword fighting, but he knew exhaustion when he saw it. Also, cheating. Either Merlin’s healing magic hadn’t been as effective as he’d thought – preposterous! – or Arthur was cheating. To _lose_.

Everything Merlin had learned about Arthur to date, which admittedly wasn’t much, had led him to believe that the young man wasn’t the sort to throw a fight. And yet here he was, doing just that. Finally, Merlin was well and truly intrigued.

The final dragged on, Arthur acting more and more demonstrably tired, and then it was over with Arthur prostrate on his back, holding up two fingers in surrender as Cenred’s knight loomed over him. The crowd burst into applause and Cenred grinned. Merlin only leaned forward, watched as Arthur picked himself up and dejectedly wiped at his cheek, smearing dirt over his face.

 

***

 

Arthur was at the final feast of course – along with the rest of the contestants. The ones who were still alive, at least. This time Merlin deigned to pay attention.

Arthur was seated at one of the lower tables and he’d clearly made some friends during his time at court. He was surrounded by nobles and commoners alike, holding an animated conversation with all of them. He laughed at their jokes and filled their cups from a jug on the table, and they stared at him in rapt attention as though he was the sun and the moon and the stars, all in one man.

A serving girl in a bright blue headscarf walked past the group, and tripped when one of Arthur’s hangers-on made a too-wide gesture. In the blink of an eye Arthur was up, supporting her with one hand and her tray of ale jugs with the other. Merlin frowned as he watched the pretty girl blush and kiss Arthur on the forehead as his friends laughed and joked around them. She whispered something in his ear, her silk scarf catching the light as she moved, and then was gone. Arthur looked dazed, and for some reason Merlin felt his gut sinking.

Arthur looked up, catching his eye almost by chance, and Merlin busied himself with his meal instead. Afterwards he still occasionally caught Arthur’s surreptitious glances at the high table, at him, and unapologetically met Arthur’s gaze each time. Once everyone was sufficiently drunk Merlin stared at Arthur pointedly, and when the young man noticed, slipped away from his seat to go out onto the balcony.

“Why did you lose?” Merlin asked once Arthur had joined him.

Arthur frowned and blushed, embarrassed once again. “I’d rather not have my throat slit on the way home,” he said.

He was clearly far more clever than his sweet face implied, Merlin realized. A dangerous quality.

“Thanks for helping me, earlier,” Arthur said, looking away bashfully. “I really can’t afford a trip to the blacksmith. Or a healer.”

“I thought as much,” Merlin answered magnanimously. “You look like you could use all the help you can get.”

Arthur looked up then, determination shining through his bright blue eyes. “Does that mean you’ll help me, then?”

Merlin sighed. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for,” he said.

“I don’t believe you,” Arthur said, narrowing his eyes. “You _must_ know, you just don’t want to tell me. But I’ll prove myself worthy, whatever it takes! I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Merlin’s mouth, but he suppressed it. He wasn’t lying when he’d said he had no answers, but knowing Arthur was willing to stay pleased him. He was still undoubtedly curious, and surely keeping the young man out of harm’s way for a while could only do him a world of good.

“Well,” he said slowly, “if you’ll be staying either way, and if you’re dying to prove yourself…. I do have need of an apprentice.”

Arthur took a shocked half-step backwards. “A knight is no… _servant_! A knight serves no one but his king!”

“Is that so?” Merlin asked. “As I recall, you are no knight, and you have no king. And I believe you said you wanted to prove yourself…”

Arthur seemed dismayed to be caught in his own words. “I have no knowledge of magic,” he said, in a last ditch attempt to back out of his offered ‘anything.’

Merlin only smiled, a bit wickedly perhaps. “Good, then you won’t be correcting me at every turn like some other apprentices I’ve had.”

“What are your terms, then?” Arthur asked dejectedly.

“You’ll serve me for a year,” Merlin said.

“A _year_?!”

Merlin continued over Arthur’s objections. “You’ll help me brew potions and prepare enchantments, gather herbs and do chores – and whatever else I wish. At the end of the term I’ll tell you all I know of the sword, but I warn you again – I don’t have the answers you seek. Do we have a deal?”

Arthur pondered the words for several minutes, his brow crinkled in thought. Finally he looked up, his jaw tense with determination, his eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he said. “I accept your offer.”

Merlin nodded with a smile. “Then I’ll expect you in my tower at noon, a week from now. Enjoy the rest of the celebrations,” he added, and then retired to his own rooms, still smiling for no particular reason he could discern.

 

**Apprentice**

*******

 

Arthur was an awful apprentice. The absolute _worst_ – and Merlin had had some terrible apprentices in the past. He was easily distracted when following orders, dreadful at brewing potions, and all and sundry would visit him _constantly_. The visitors would speak briefly, share a joke or two, and then sit silently and watch as Arthur worked, as though content to simply bask in his presence. Sometimes even the castle seamstresses would come with their sewing; the five ladies known for their foul mouths and unrelenting viciousness would sit around Merlin’s tower on upturned crates and wobbly stools and _sew quietly_. It drove Merlin mad.

Not to mention that Arthur was terrible at all of his chores. He was always late, and untidy, and practically vibrating with energy – Merlin found him exhausting. He wandered around the castle shiftily, disappearing at odd moments only to reappear with the excuse that he’d been “at the tavern” though he never smelled of drink. He also sassed Merlin like no one had ever sassed him before, showing absolutely no fear and no shame in the face of the most powerful warlock who had ever lived. Surprisingly, this was his only redeeming quality. That and his good looks, though Merlin didn’t like to think about that for too long. The boy was probably only _seventeen_ for gods’ sake, and though Merlin wasn’t exactly ancient, he was still his master, despite the lack of respect Arthur frequently displayed.

Arthur had been serving him for over two months when another failed potion finally caused Merlin to snap.

“You complete and utter buffoon!” Merlin yelled, staring at the ruined mess of his best cauldron and the scorch marks on his second best work bench. “If I’d been a hedge-wizard rather than a Court Sorcerer supplied by Cenred’s own treasury, I’d be _ruined_!”

Arthur stared down at his own feet apologetically, twisting his fingers into the hem of his tunic. “I’m sorry,” he said in a hushed voice. “I followed the recipe…”

“Obviously not!” Merlin cried out. “The recipe clearly said to add two grams of flax _seed_ and seven grams of flax _weed_ , and you must have gone and switched them around, or else it would have turned lilac instead of this-this disgusting rust-colored abomination!”

Arthur glared down at the recipe book sullenly, looking for all the world like it had betrayed him.

“You have to pay _attention_ ,” Merlin continued, waving his hands in agitation.

“I _was_ paying attention!” Arthur exclaimed. “Is it _my_ fault your labels look like chicken-scratch?” He was getting more agitated than Merlin had ever seen him, his face turning so red it was almost mauve. An undercurrent of anger and sharp embarrassment ran through his words, and Merlin frowned. On a hunch he pulled the recipe book over and shoved it into Arthur’s hands.

“Read the recipe for me, let’s see how much attention you paid,” he said.

Arthur took the book, the expression in his eyes approaching panic. He grit his teeth for a while and stared at the words on the page, his body trembling slightly. Finally he threw the book back down and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t,” he said, blinking rapidly.

“And you didn’t think to mention this _before_ you ruined some of my best ingredients?” Merlin asked.

Arthur looked up, alarmed. “Please don’t send me away! You said to serve you for a year and I can still- I’ll gather herbs and clean and-and run errands for you instead. Just don’t-“ He swallowed tightly, his eyes shining suspiciously brightly.

“You’re supposed to do all that _anyway_ ,” Merlin sighed. “And I haven’t said anything about sending you away, have I? Clean this lot up and get some rest. We’ll start your reading lessons tomorrow.”

Tears started to fall down Arthur’s cheeks and he wiped them away hastily, clearly appalled at himself. “Thank you, Lord Merlin,” he breathed out.

Merlin grimaced. “Oh gods, don’t do _that_. All this politeness is going to give me an aneurysm. Just call me Merlin, and stop crying! Or you’ll set me off too and neither of us wants to see _that_.”

He’d been trying for a joking tone but Arthur only sniffled pitifully. “Look, just go do,” Merlin waved his hand vaguely, “whatever it is you do when you’re not here. I’ll take care of all this, and I’ll expect you with breakfast in the morning.”

Arthur nodded tightly and bustled away. The following morning he was back to his usual self, and Merlin almost wished he’d start crying again just to get a break from all the complaining. He was absolutely insufferable, his enthusiasm for reading lessons manifesting itself in an endless stream of questions and inane observations.

“But why does it make sense for capital letters to be different from lowercase ones?” and “Punctuation is stupid, _Mer_ lin, I don’t see why we can’t do without it completely!” and “Why not just spell words how they sound?”

He was a quick learner, though. _Thank the gods_ , Merlin thought, or else he’d be ripping his hair out after a week. In a month Arthur was starting to read with confidence, and this only made him more impossible to be around. Suddenly he was correcting Merlin at every step, pointing out that “the book said _three_ tablespoons of peppermint oil, not two and a half,” and “you’re meant to stir _clockwise_ for seven turns, and then _counterclockwise_ for five more.”

Merlin sent him for errands outside of the tower more often than not, and Arthur’s smug grin indicated that may have been his plan all along. He started to spend more of his evenings away, and one fair spring night Merlin came across him and several other young men running sword drills in a field behind the castle. Some of them had been contestants in the tournament months before, some were Cenred’s own knights and squires, and a few looked like simple tradesmen’s sons. Merlin watched a while from the shadows, struck at how eager they all seemed to take Arthur’s lead.

Now that Merlin knew Arthur was just a commoner himself it became clear he’d never had formal training in swordplay. He managed to turn that into a strength rather than a weakness, and seemed to do considerably better against the castle-trained knights. His movements were quick and unexpected, and he was excellent at reading his opponents, weaving easily away from every blow. He was just as graceful at taking the advice of his companions, smiling in delight whenever they taught him anything new.

Fresh flowers just opening their blooms were strewn around the field and night-birds sang loudly from the close-by forest. It was all rather picturesque but it only made Merlin’s throat tight with unease. When he left he cast a small protection spell over the gathering – it wouldn’t do for Cenred to find out about the secret training meeting.

Even without knowing of the training sessions it was clear that Arthur was gaining more and more influence in Cenred’s court, seemingly despite himself. Whenever he dined in the main hall the seats around him filled with more people than they could possibly contain, sending a steady hum of conversation echoing through the room and disrupting the meal service.

Cenred noticed. Of course, he had to pretend he hadn’t noticed or risk appearing insecure, but Merlin was certain he’d noticed. His ever-present smirk grew somewhat fixed whenever Arthur was in the vicinity. He seemed to have absolutely no intention of doing anything about it, and Merlin found out why in midsummer, the day after the one that turned out to be Arthur’s naming day and coming of age.

In the morning Cenred summoned Arthur to the throne room. Arthur threw Merlin an uneasy glance before obeying. Merlin made his way to the throne chamber by a different route, appearing at Cenred’s side right before Arthur was ushered in. The room was mostly empty, and Cenred looked stern as he stood before the throne. Merlin’s palms began to sweat so he wiped them surreptitiously on his robes, though it didn’t seem to do much good. His magic was buzzing angrily within him, eager to spill out.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t for Cenred to offer Arthur a knighthood; and he most _certainly_ wasn’t expecting Arthur to turn it down. Although perhaps that part of it wasn’t so shocking. What was shocking was how much grace and respect Arthur managed while doing so.

“It would be an honor to be a knight of Escetir,” Arthur began, his head bowed respectfully, “but I fear I am a green, unblooded youth. I may have skill in the arena, but I’ve never had to fight for my life and I cannot in good faith join your knights and know that I risk endangering them with my inexperience. I thank you for the honor, and for your kindness, Sire, as well as your hospitality, but I cannot yet accept your most gracious offer.”

It was a nice touch to add the ‘yet,’ Merlin thought. A subtle way of implying he would accept in the future, not a ‘no’ so much as a ‘not right now.’ It was too subtle for Cenred. Merlin watched as the King’s eyes narrowed in anger; all Cenred could see was the refusal. He managed to nod politely even through his clear displeasure, and Arthur was dismissed.

Barely a day later Merlin was informed that he was being sent away to deal with an illness in some outlying village that Cenred had never bothered with before. Merlin ordered Arthur to pack and informed him that he’d be coming along. Arthur made a show of keeping up a steady stream of complaints but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. He wasn’t a fool, as much as he seemed like one at first, and he saw the wisdom of making himself scarce in the wake of his refusal.

 

**Journey – Midsummer**

*******

 

Arthur was surprisingly pleasant to be around outside the castle walls. He seemed completely at ease in the forest. He was calm and mostly quiet, and when Merlin snuck glances at him he saw that Arthur was smiling softly. It helped that he wasn’t in the process of ruining another potion or shirking his chores – two of his favorite occupations back at the tower.

When they stopped for the night Arthur managed to snare a rabbit, and they had fresh roasted meat rather than the hard cheese and bread they had packed in their saddlebags. They shared a wine-skin, dining in a comfortable silence. Afterwards Merlin sprawled out next to the fire while Arthur sat close by, carefully sharpening his sword.

“It was foolish to decline Cenred’s offer,” Merlin said after a while. There was no judgment in his tone, only idle curiosity. “I thought you wanted to be a knight.”

“Not _Cenred’s_ knight,” Arthur responded calmly.

“And whose knight do you wish to be?”

Arthur was silent for a long moment, but Merlin could still hear the steady sound of the oiled whetstone running across the length of his blade. “Knights shouldn’t belong to kings,” he said finally. “They should belong to the people.”

“Knights belong to whoever trains and pays them,” Merlin said with a derisive snort.

The movement of the whetstone ceased. “No, that’s mercenaries,” Arthur said, clearly offended. “A knight’s first duty is to protect the weak, and to help those in need. It is _not_ guarding the tables of crowned pigs and riding into skirmishes to settle petty conflicts!”

“You’ll not find many who share your views,” Merlin replied. He was a bit impressed at Arthur’s vehemence, though it wouldn’t do to encourage the young man or he’d land himself in a dungeon somewhere for high treason.

“Yeah, well. Just because everyone does it doesn’t mean it’s right,” Arthur said, returning to the task of sharpening his sword.

“You know, Merlin,” Arthur said after another pause. “I’ve served you for half a year now. Only half my term is left.”

“Yes, that is generally how halves of things work,” Merlin agreed.

“I think I deserve to know something about the sword. I’ve put in half a year in good faith, but now I’d like a little proof. Proof that you know _something_ about it, at least.”

Merlin looked over at him curiously. “And if I refuse to tell you anything until the full term is up, what will you do? Leave?”

“Of course not!” Arthur said, clearly offended. “We made a deal, and I intend to keep it.”

“But no doubt you’ll be even more sullen and clumsy than usual,” Merlin said with a teasing smile. “Alright, I’ll tell you one thing.”

Arthur leaned towards him in anticipation, eyes wide and ears practically straining for any stray sound.

“The sword has a name,” Merlin said. “Excalibur.”

Arthur did not seem in the least disappointed by what he’d heard. He leaned back slowly as if in a daze, and his lips formed the word _Excalibur_ experimentally. It hung in the air between them and Merlin felt the world shift oddly beneath him, leaving him a little woozy and unbalanced. Though that was probably the wine, he rationalized, and bid Arthur a good night before tucking himself away into his bedroll. He dreamed of a huge canyon, and a thin stream cutting inexorably into dry red stone.

 

***

 

The small village he’d been sent to suffered from nearly every calamity known to man – except, of course, illness. They were in desperate need of help and Merlin was in no rush to return to court. He sent Cenred a missive claiming that the illness was severe and terribly contagious, and he didn’t know how long he’d have to stay to create a cure. Cenred’s reply included the veiled suggestion that perhaps instead of returning with him, Arthur would catch the illness and die. Merlin answered that Arthur was disliked and mistrusted by the villagers, and as a result Merlin kept him making potions and salves away from the rest of the population, where he was unlikely to catch sick. Cenred left them in peace after that.

The summer went by slowly. Merlin set up protective wards around the village to keep away wolves and bandits, and taught their aging apothecary new remedies for cough and fever and pain. Contrary to what he’d told Cenred, the townsfolk absolutely _loved_ Arthur. Children hounded him for fighting lessons and barmaids gossiped about his fair hair and friendly smile. Old women talked about what a _lovely lad_ he was, and farmers sought him out for help with their flocks.

He helped repair fences and roofs, set up fortifications around the village and pumped the bellows in the smithy. Due to the summer heat he did most of this shirtless, showing off the sort of muscular physique that no eighteen-year-old ought to have. Merlin was miserable.

Through it all Arthur still insisted on reading lessons, though by then he was reading nearly as well as Merlin himself. He always sat impossibly close, leaning over Merlin to point out a word he didn’t know, or to ask about pronunciation. Merlin did his best not to think about it, but it didn’t stop him dreaming of sinking his hands into Arthur’s hair or running his tongue over Arthur’s chest.

The crickets were so loud that Merlin would often wake in the middle of the dreams, which was even more awful. Especially as he’d be left lying awake afterwards, clenching his fists while listening to Arthur’s even breathing in the cot beside him, trying desperately to think of anything else.

The village was boasting fresh new roofs and an entirely new irrigation system by the time the leaves started to turn and Merlin decided it was past time for them to head back. They said farewell to the townsfolk – more than a few wept openly as they clutched at Arthur’s hands – and rode back to Cenred.

The journey back took nearly three times as long as the journey there. They took breaks constantly and camped much earlier than they needed to – both reluctant to return.

“Why do you serve him?” Arthur asked when they were only five hours away and Merlin had called them to a stop even though it was barely past noon.

Merlin thought about the question for a while, poking at the unnecessary fire with a long stick. “Because he’s willing to pay for my housing and my materials, and he doesn’t ask me to destroy his enemies.”

Arthur seemed surprised. “Is that all you want from life? A quiet place to perform you experiments?”

“Of course not!” Merlin replied, offended.

“What _do_ you want, then? Is it to rule a kingdom of your own? You’re certainly powerful enough for that…”

“I have no interest in ruling,” Merlin huffed. “I’d be no good at it anyway.”

“What, then?” Arthur asked.

“It’s stupid,” Merlin said.

“I’m sure it’s not. Tell me.”

At some point Merlin had become unable to refuse Arthur’s requests, so he only sighed, and answered. “I want to use my magic for good, in the service of a wise an honorable king. Someone who cares about his people, and honesty, and justice. I want to protect rather than attack, help rather than hurt. But out of all the kings now ruling throughout the land, only Cenred doesn’t ask me to cast killing curses or ailments. If the most good I can do is to create a new cure for the flu, then I have to content myself with that.”

Arthur stared at him for a long moment before leaning back into his bedroll. “You’re right, that _is_ stupid. You’re selling yourself too cheaply,” he said quietly. “You could change the world, you know. You could be your own king. You could be great.”

“I’m not interested in being great alone,” Merlin replied in irritation. “Not all men are born to lead.”

“Are you born to follow, then?” Arthur asked.

“Perhaps,” Merlin answered, feeling hot with embarrassment.

“Every great leader is only made so by their followers,” Arthur said quietly.

Merlin startled at the words, and the unexpected wisdom within. The moment was quickly shattered by Arthur saying, “I’m hungry,” and heading off to the stream. Merlin found himself dwelling on it even after Arthur had returned with a huge carp to prepare for cooking.

 

***

 

Cenred’s anger had clearly dissipated while they’d been away. He welcomed Merlin back with open arms – literally – and even his irritation with Arthur had seemed to fade with time. Possibly it was because he’d managed to find and execute over a dozen traitors while they’d been gone, or possibly the fading heat of summer left him in a more positive mood.

Merlin returned to his tower with Arthur at his heels, huffing and puffing under the weight of all their things. When he opened the door he saw four men and a woman standing around awkwardly. They startled as the door opened, and looked embarrassed at Merlin’s entrance until they saw Arthur behind him and broke out into relieved grins. They bowed respectfully and muttered greetings to Merlin before turning their attention to Arthur, becoming instantly more boisterous.

Arthur barely had time to drop the saddlebags before he was being pulled into a multi-pronged embrace with much laughter and back-patting. Merlin frowned as he watched the proceedings. He recognized the visitors since he’d seen them hanging around before. Lancelot was a blacksmith who worked in the city and attended Arthur’s training sessions. Gwaine was one of Cenred’s new knights – some said she was one of the finest fighters in the land, despite being a woman – and she constantly sent Arthur presents in the forms of jugs of ale and, puzzlingly, women’s underthings. Percival was a commoner who had competed in the midwinter tournament, and had been defeated by Arthur on the field though he clearly held no grudge.

Elyan had also competed in the tournament, and Merlin thought that perhaps he and Arthur had arrived together. They bickered constantly in a way that suggested they were either bitter enemies or the best of friends. Finally there was Leon – an older man and a bit of a mysterious figure. He was generally quiet but friendly, and he was most definitely a knight from somewhere – though Merlin didn’t know exactly where.

“Perhaps you could take the celebration elsewhere,” Merlin said when it was clear they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

Lancelot looked up at him as if he was only now remembering Merlin was there at all. “Of course, Lord Merlin,” he said with a respectful nod.

“Tavern, lads?” Gwaine asked with a wide grin, throwing her arms around Arthur’s and Leon’s shoulders.

Arthur looked at Merlin uncertainly. “I’m not sure I should…”

“Perhaps you’d better,” Merlin replied with an indulgent eye-roll. Arthur looked ecstatic as they started to herd him out the door. “Wait!” Merlin called out, feeling suddenly anxious. They stopped and turned around, watching him in confusion as he rifled through his things only to eventually pull out six mismatched amulets.

“One for each of you,” he said. “Well, go on!” he prodded when they seemed uncertain. Arthur was the first to pull an amulet out of his fingers, and the rest followed suit.

“What are these?” Arthur asked.

“I can tell that you lot are troublemakers,” Merlin said, glaring at Gwaine, especially. “Maybe they’ll do you a bit of good. At the very least, I’ll know to come if I’m needed.”

Leon and Elyan looked dubious. Lancelot, Percival, and Gwaine looked down-right perplexed. Only Arthur smiled widely as he tied the amulet around his wrist. “Thanks, _Mer_ lin,” he said, and then they were out the door.

 

**Autumn**

*******

 

Merlin soon found out that the real reason Cenred was so pleased with himself was because he was preparing for war with Bayard. War always put him in a better mood. This one was about some kind of patrols invading borders somewhere, or something of the like. Merlin didn’t usually bother with that sort of thing. He only saw the maps being put away at the end of the war meetings, which was when he arrived for council. Sometimes Cenred shot him speculative glances that Merlin didn’t like the look of, but so far he hadn’t asked for anything Merlin wasn’t willing to give.

Merlin was sure Arthur had resumed his illicit training sessions. He often returned to the tower sweaty and dirty, trying to be discrete about carrying his sword by wrapping it up in a ratty cloth. It wasn't discrete in the least and made Merlin roll his eyes, even though Arthur seldom noticed.

Sometimes Merlin would sneak down to watch. He liked to tell himself it was to keep an eye on Arthur for his own good, but it probably had more to do with how Arthur looked while he was fighting - strong and sure. He looked older than his eighteen years while he was circling an opponent, his eyes narrowed in complete concentration. He never seemed so relaxed as he did while trading blows, moonlight turning his gold hair to silver.

In the end it turned out to be a good thing Merlin was there, for as the autumn approached its end a new knight started attending. He was one of the youngest, a mousy boy named Cedric who'd been knighted by Cenred while Merlin and Arthur had been away that summer.

Merlin felt uneasy. He knew that Cedric was loyal to Cenred, and his presence didn't bode well for the continuing secrecy of Arthur's activities. It was time to stop fooling himself. Arthur hadn't been safe since he'd turned down Cenred's offer of knighthood, and Merlin was needlessly endangering him by keeping him to his agreed-upon term. He allowed himself to feel a moment of regret and then sighed and turned away.

When Arthur returned to the tower Merlin was waiting for him with supper and a bottle of wine. Arthur lit up when he saw, and went to wash up hurriedly before coming back to the table in a fresh tunic. Merlin watched sadly as he started to eat and then sighed and poured himself a goblet of wine.

"I was born in a little town called Ealdor," he said. "I never knew my father. Some said he'd died before I was born, others said he'd run off. My mother never said anything, and it was just her and me, for a while."

Arthur seemed puzzled at what Merlin had said. "I'm sorry," he said slowly.

"It is what it is," Merlin shrugged. "The magic - I was born with it. It was like an invisible third arm that I couldn't quite control, moving things about and mending things and sometimes changing things into other things. It was a bit of a nuisance, really, but it was a part of me, too."

"Why are you telling me this?" Arthur asked. He seemed more alarmed than puzzled now.

Merlin smiled weakly. “Just listen, you clod.”

Arthur shut his mouth, but he didn’t go back to eating, either.

“I never thought I was anything particularly special, even with the magic. So I wasn’t exactly prepared for the High Priestess of the Old Religion to show up with four other sorceresses. I was barely eight years old when Nimueh came. She said the Queen of Camelot had conceived a son, that he was destined to unite all of Albion and that I was destined to serve him. According to her, my first act of service would be to create a sword worthy of his fate, and they took me away to Camelot.”

“Took you away?” Arthur asked incredulously.

“They didn’t say I had no choice, exactly, but it was clear there was no other way. And what could we have done? My mother and I against five experienced witches? My mother packed a satchel for me and sent me with them.

“They said I had until the child was born to complete the task, and I spent the next few months mostly locked in a tiny book-filled room, studying smithing and crafting spells, protection wards and enchantments.”

Merlin didn’t mention the other things, the way Nimueh had put him through painful tests of his magic, or the day she had tattooed his chest with the Pendragon crest in a smoke-filled room surrounded by chanting priestesses who held him down while he wept with the pain. He had been terrified, had begged them to let him go home. But she always just smiled, sharp like a dagger, and given him cryptic lectures about how the Old Religion demanded balance and sacrifice.

The only one who had been on his side back then had been the court physician, Gaius. He’d tried to help Merlin as best he could, even on occasion to hide him from Nimueh’s rituals, but in the end he was powerless to stop her from doing whatever she wanted with Merlin.

“Mind you,” Merlin continued, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him, “by this point the only thing I’d ever read was the farmer’s almanac – and that, barely – and the only thing I’d ever written was my own name in the dust. I was miserable, and then I was desperate. I could barely read the spells in the books, much less understand them. Forget about actually _casting_ any of them! I was running out of time, so one night I snuck away and begged the dragon to help me.”

“A _dragon_?” Arthur interrupted incredulously. “You’re saying it was easier to ask for help from a dragon than any of the sorceresses?”

Merlin smiled. “The dragon was much less frightening than Nimueh. He’d come visit me when I was younger sometimes, and his advice never made any sense but at least he was usually kind to me. So I snuck off into the forest and called him. He laughed at me for a long time before he agreed to help. He bid me to bring him a sword, so I snuck back into town and nicked one from the nearest smithy. When I brought it back he breathed fire on it, and it became Excalibur – the sword that you seek.”

“ _What_?” Arthur asked. “That’s it? _That’s_ the story of how it was made? You were kidnapped and forced into servitude and you were so terrible at your job you cheated by asking a _dragon_ to do it for you?”

Merlin laughed a little. “I’m sure it’s not as glamorous as you were expecting, but that’s about the shape of it, yes. I headed back, ecstatic, but I was just a child, remember. I finally had the weight of my task off my shoulders, as well as some freedom. I’ll admit I tarried a bit. Over a week passed.”

He nearly hadn’t come back, but in the end it was some odd sense of duty that had drawn him to the castle. Some days he regretted coming back, even as he knew that it wouldn’t have changed a thing.

“When I returned it was to find that the Queen had died in childbirth, the fate of the child was uncertain, and Uther was mad with grief. His wife’s brother Agravaine took advantage of the weakness and staged a coup. Camelot was engulfed in a bloody civil war while the neighboring kings watched with glee, sharpening their swords.

“Bayard was the first to act. He sacked Camelot, imprisoned Uther and killed his infant son. Nimueh took me and fled. By then she was completely disgusted with me. If I’d been there when I ought to have been she could have saved Igraine, she said. She took me into the druids wood, and left me to fend for myself.”

Merlin fell silent, remembering that dark day. He’d suspected, then, that there was more to it than she told him. The way she had looked at him, with such hatred and naked greed, made him think she’d wanted him and his power for something else entirely.

“I still had the sword though, and dragon-forged steel, I knew, was an extremely powerful weapon. Too powerful. Its rightful owner could use it for great good, but in the wrong hands it could only be a tool of destruction. The dragon had made sure I understood that much when he helped me. So I decided to hide it, where no one could ever reach it.”

“So you put it in a stone,” Arthur said, nodding.

“Ah, not quite,” Merlin said, wincing. “Actually, I threw it in the nearest lake. It turned out a water sprite lived in it, and she promised me she’d keep it safe. That seemed good enough to me, so I left it there and went home. Of course, some years later I started to doubt the wisdom of leaving a magical artifact as powerful as Excalibur in the care of a random water sprite so I returned to the lake to take it back.”

“So _that_ was when you put it in the stone,” Arthur said.

“No, that was when she told me to get lost. She said the sword wasn’t made for me, and I couldn’t have it back. She said she’d only reveal it to its rightful owner. Nothing I said or did could convince her to return it and in the end I gave up and left. If I couldn’t get it, then surely no one else could, either.”

Arthur stared at him expectantly. “And then what?”

Merlin shrugged. “And then nothing. That’s it. That’s the whole story. I listened to a sorceress and a dragon and some vague prophecy, and after all of it I ended up right back where I’d started, only everything was a little bit worse. I was a foolish boy and I had no idea what I was doing – I don’t know anything about the sword itself aside from its name.

“I don’t even rightly know where it _is_. I’ve tried to find it, you know, and I can’t. The rumors all mention the sword in the stone, don’t they? But why should it be in a stone if I left it in a lake? I’ve tried asking the Lady of the Lake but she won’t speak to me anymore, not even to say hello.” Merlin shrugged hopelessly. “I’m sorry, Arthur. That’s the full of it, the story you sold your year for.”

“That’s it,” Arthur said flatly. Merlin had expected him to be angry, but he only seemed resigned. “I was expecting something else.”

“I know.”

“But you did warn me, didn’t you. This is what you were warning me about,” Arthur laughed bitterly, not meeting Merlin’s eyes. “I thought you were lying.”

“I know.”

“Is the rest of it true, then?”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked.

“Is it true that whoever pulls the sword out of the stone is the rightful king of Albion?”

“Well…” Merlin began. Arthur was staring at him wide-eyed, the naked hope on his face nearly painful. Merlin winced. “I suppose… It _was_ forged for the son of King Uther and Queen Igraine, and there _was_ a prophecy about the child uniting Albion. So I suppose, yes. It’s true. Although it’s not in a stone, I’ve _just_ said!”

Arthur looked away and slowly began to smile, his jaw tightening in renewed determination. “Don’t be stupid, _Mer_ lin. Of course it’s in a stone.” A new thought seemed to occur to him, and he jerked up to stare at Merlin suspiciously. “Why did you tell me? I still have two months on my term.”

As much as he hated saying the words, Merlin steeled himself and forced them out. “I’m releasing you early. You’re free to go, Arthur.”

Arthur frowned, suspicion clear over his features.

“No. I gave you my word that I’d stay for a year to hear what you know, and just because you decided to tell me early that doesn’t mean the deal is broken. I’m keeping my word, and I’m staying.”

Merlin grimaced. Trust Arthur to be stubborn at the most inconvenient moment. “You have to leave,” he said. “Soon. Tonight, if possible.”

“You’re sending me away?” Arthur practically recoiled in shock. “Why? What have I done?”

“What _haven’t_ you done!” Merlin exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. His eyes caught on the bottle of wine sitting forgotten on the table, and refilled his goblet. He hadn’t noticed it going dry, but now that he had, he desperately wanted another drink. “You’re the worst apprentice I’ve ever had! You’re rude and reckless and obnoxious, and I’m sending you away because somehow I’ve become rather fond of you.”

Merlin took a deep drink before setting the goblet down, growing serious as he looked Arthur in the eyes. “You’re in danger here, Arthur. You were in danger as soon as you turned down Cenred’s knighthood. Once he finds out about your little training sessions he’ll take it as high treason and you’ll be hung.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. He was pale as a sheet but his determination didn’t falter. “He won’t find out about that.”

Merlin sighed. “Last I saw there were nearly fifty men at your meetings. Can you trust every single one of them with your life?”

“And yet we haven’t been discovered,” Arthur argued.

“That you know of,” Merlin countered. “You’ll recall I discovered you lot quite easily. And even if you’re right, how much longer do you think that will last? Until you have seventy men? Or a hundred?”

“It will last for two more months,” Arthur said. “I will finish my term and then I’ll leave as you ask.”

“Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said? In two months you might be dead!”

“I’m staying,” Arthur repeated, and turned back to the remains of his now-cold supper. Merlin glared at him balefully and poured himself the rest of the wine. He should have known Arthur would be _impossible_.

 

**Flight – Late Autumn**

*******

 

In the end Merlin was right, as he’d known he would be. Less than a week later he awoke in agony, his whole chest on fire. He was confused for a split second before the pain focused into a sharp jab and he thought _Arthur_. He thanked the gods that he’d had the foresight to saddle Arthur and his worst troublemakers with the amulets, and didn’t bother dressing before rushing to him. Less than two minutes later he was bursting into the throne room in just his nightshirt and one sock – the other having been lost somewhere along the way.

Cenred looked up in surprise at the commotion. Cedric was beside him, his unsheathed sword gripped tight in his hand. There were a dozen or so guards standing in a circle before them, and inside the circle was Arthur, sprawled out on the ground. He was dressed for training in gambeson and chainmail though his sword was missing. His lip was cut and bleeding, his nose looked broken, and he was cradling his left hand oddly to his chest. He seemed pale but determined as he turned to look at Merlin.

Merlin saw red. He didn’t notice that his fists were clenched as he strode over, gold sparking around the edges of his vision. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. The guards shrunk away from his approach and he spared Arthur a brief glance to check he wasn’t too terribly injured before stepping in front of him protectively, hiding him from Cenred’s view. “He is _my_ apprentice, Cenred, so if you have problems with him you come to _me_.”

Cenred narrowed his eyes but didn’t dare come a step further. “He is a traitor in my kingdom, so I’ll do with him what I like.”

“A traitor?” Merlin asked incredulously. “And what, pray tell, has he done?”

Cedric, the sniveling little rat, raised his chin and stepped forward. “He’s been planning a rebellion. Training men and enticing knights out of their service to their rightful king.”

Merlin didn’t look at Cedric as he replied, staring at Cenred the whole time instead. “Sounds to me like he’s been doing you a favor. Training your men and weeding out the disloyal. You should reward him for his service.”

“I’ll reward him with a swift and merciful execution,” Cenred hissed viciously. “You have no say in this. Stand aside, _Merlin_.”

“You forget yourself, Cenred,” Merlin said in a low voice. His magic was pulsing underneath his skin, clamoring for escape. It had never been so close to the surface, so eager, and he didn’t notice it leaking out around the boundaries of his control, an invisible fog of power crawling across the stone floor. Candles flickered and the air got noticeably cooler.  A distinct feeling of hostile watching eyes crept up the spines of those in the room, and strange sibilant hissing slid in around the edges of their hearing.

“I speak for the earth itself. I channel the very powers of nature. I am _Emrys_ and if one of us will be giving orders it will be _me_.”

Cenred looked furious but Merlin continued, his voice echoing oddly through the room. “I promised the boy he’d be safe in my service, and so he shall be. You will give him leave to return to my tower and gather his things, and at dawn you will let him leave your city unharmed. And if you do _not_ ,” Merlin took a menacing half step forward, “I will bring your kingdom down around your ears. What shall it be?”

Cenred made a show of considering Merlin’s threat – or perhaps his fury was strangling the words in his throat. Finally he made a small nod. “Fine,” he gritted out through his teeth, “the boy can go – but he has _one hour_ to leave the city and no more.”

Merlin relaxed slightly, and his fists finally unclenched. “As you wish, Sire,” he said in a much more meek tone. He really didn’t want to push his luck any more than he already had.

He turned back to Arthur and hauled him to his feet by the upper arm, and then marched him briskly back to the tower. They made the trip in tense silence, Merlin’s mind still racing with waves of panic and anger. Once inside his rooms Merlin latched the door tightly and sat Arthur down on the bed. He had to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths before his roiling magic settled down enough that he felt confident performing healing spells. Only when he opened his eyes, it was to see that Arthur was carefully flexing his left hand without a hint of pain. His nose was unbroken, the bruises were gone, and all that was left of the cut on his lip was a faint smear of blood on his chin. Merlin startled a little. How had he not noticed his magic healing Arthur along the way?

The same way he hadn’t noticed it back in the hall, he realized. The hall where Arthur had been kneeling before Cedric’s blade, where he would have died if Merlin had arrived even one minute later. But here he was – sitting, breathing, _alive_. The remains of fear abruptly drained away and Merlin’s knees buckled. His favorite chair slid helpfully from across the room to catch his fall, and he dropped into it with a startled gasp.

Arthur still hadn’t said anything so Merlin looked up to stare at him, first in wonder and then accusation. “ _You_ ,” he managed. He pointed his index finger at Arthur’s calm face, not noticing how hard his hand was shaking. “You should have gone when I _told_ you, and then this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Merlin-“

“Don’t!” Merlin cut him off, anger rising once again. “You shouldn’t have stayed, and you shouldn’t have started those training sessions, and you _shouldn’t_ have turned down that knighthood! You shouldn’t have come here at all! But _no_ \- No, your delusions of grandeur led you to me, and you had to burst in like a storm and _ruin everything_!”

He stopped as he came to another shocking realization, like a wave of freezing water crashing over him. Because Arthur _had_ ruined everything, that much was clear to him now. There was no way Cenred would keep him around after that insubordination- defying and threatening him openly, before witnesses. Everything he now had, every bit of the life he’d built over the past few years in service to Cenred, was now utterly shattered.

“Oh gods,” he whispered. “Cenred won’t stand for this. I’ll have to leave as well.”

“Maybe it’s about time,” Arthur said testily as he rose from the bed. He was still pale but he seemed to move well enough, though slowly. He began to gather his things into the satchel he’d brought with him when he’d first arrived for the tournament nearly a year ago.

Merlin sagged back into his chair. He couldn’t muster any emotion but loss anymore. “This is my home,” he said quietly.

“You’ll find a new one,” Arthur said, a bit uncharitably.

“There’s nowhere else for me,” Merlin said. “No other King will have me. The Druids want nothing to do with me. The rest of the practitioners of the Old Religion hate me. Not even the dragon will come to me, any more. All I had was Cenred, but now-“

“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur interrupted. He was folding his spare clothing rather viciously, stuffing it down into his pack without any order or consideration. “How long do you think that’d lasted? He’s no special from any other King. He hoped to woo you with-“ he waved his arm vaguely to indicate their surroundings, “-and win you over to his side. And when he’d realized you really _wouldn’t_ destroy his enemies he’d have tossed you out like trash.”

Arthur scowled. “Of course, he’d have tried to kill you first. Wouldn’t do to have a weapon like you just wandering around, would it.”

“I’m not a-“

“To _him_ you are,” Arthur interrupted. “And you’re a fool if you think otherwise. You should have left _ages_ ago, and then I wouldn’t have had to come here in the first place.” He finished packing by stuffing several books into the satchel and pulling it closed. He slung it over his shoulder and straightened up to glare at Merlin. The given hour had nearly passed, and Merlin couldn’t help but imagine the ranks of guards lining up around the base of the tower. Waiting for Arthur, and maybe for him too.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Merlin whispered, still numb with shock.

Arthur hesitated, shifting awkwardly, then strode over to kneel before Merlin’s chair. “Come with me,” he said seriously. He took Merlin’s hands in his own and gave them a firm squeeze. His palms were slightly sweaty but warm, and his fingers held on a bit too tightly. “ _Help_ me,” Arthur continued. “Once I have Excalibur I can bring peace to Albion.”

Merlin stared down at their clasped hands. He was still shaking slightly from adrenaline, but Arthur was steady as rock. “You’re serious,” Merlin said. “You truly think that is your destiny?”

“Destiny is how cowards excuse their failures,” Arthur scoffed. “We make choices, that’s all. So what do you choose, Merlin?”

Merlin’s destiny had been to serve the heir of Camelot, but clearly he’d completely bollixed that up. Perhaps Arthur was right, and destiny wasn’t so important after all. Even though it was utterly ludicrous that Arthur thought himself the High King of Albion, at least Merlin could come along and made sure the fool stayed alive awhile longer.

“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll come with you.”

Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise. He broke out into a helpless grin. He waited patiently while Merlin cast a brief spell over the room and his things began dancing off their shelves, shrinking and tucking themselves away into a large leather rucksack.

They made it down to the stables with barely a minute to spare, and hurriedly saddled two horses. The whole castle seemed deserted, and no one tried to stop them as they left by the western gate. The city was silent and dark with sleep as they rode out, and soon they were enveloped in the soothing hush of the forest, the rustle of the drying autumn leaves like a lullaby in the wind.

 

***

 

 

 

It started raining immediately of course, dousing the both of them in freezing water. Within minutes Merlin was completely soaked and miserable. He tried casting a spell to keep them both warm and dry but it took too much energy and concentration to keep up for long. By morning he was sniffling pitifully, a headache building behind his eyes.

It was too risky to take shelter in any of the towns they passed, and over the next few days the sniffling progressed to sneezing, then coughing, and then a persistent fever. Merlin’s magic fluttered wildly around him, too out of control to even guarantee a warm fire during the awful nights. More often than not they’d end up huddled together, for all the good it did. Arthur’s chainmail leached away all the warmth from Merlin’s body, and he refused to take it off because he insisted on keeping watch. By the end of the week Merlin could barely stay on his horse – not that he was about to tell _Arthur_ that.

Things were looking rather dire, and then everything got considerably worse. Just as Merlin was about to admit that he needed a warm meal and a good night’s sleep somewhere dry – Cenred and his men be damned! – Arthur pulled their horses to an abrupt stop.

“Wha-“

“Shh!” Arthur hissed sharply and cocked his head to the side, listening intently and peering off into the underbrush. Merlin hadn’t the faintest clue what Arthur could possibly hope to spot in the gloomy twilight, and all Merlin could hear was the steady dripping of water. He quickly lost interest, focusing instead on stifling an impending sneeze. There was a sound like the snapping of a twig which, while not exactly unusual in the forest, caught Merlin’s attention. His magic stirred like a waking beast and awareness slammed into him all at once.

They were surrounded by a dozen men – five of them sorcerers. Three of those sorcerers were men and women that Merlin had personally trained, and the others he’d considered moderately decent acquaintances. It was undeniable they were here to kill Arthur and him both.

There was another faint snap of a twig, and Merlin now realized it was a footstep drawing stealthily closer. Arthur eased his sword out of its sheath, keeping his other hand in a firm grip over the reigns. Their attackers were on foot, so Arthur would have the upper hand – but that didn’t change the fact that there were seven swordsmen creeping up on them. Not to mention the five sorcerers who were no doubt here to handle Merlin himself.

Even on his best day Merlin doubted his ability to defeat all of them, and considering how ill he was the odds were terribly against them. He tried to cast a sleeping charm over their attackers but failed with a miserable spray of grey sparks.

That’s when pandemonium broke out. Realizing they’d been discovered, Cenred’s swordsmen rushed them as one while the sorcerers hung back, loudly chanting some spell in tandem. Merlin reacted unthinkingly, flinging the swordsmen backwards like rag dolls. Or, well, flinging _some_ of them. A few of them. Really, just one of them. Another abruptly sank waist-deep in mud, and a third seemed to trip over his own feet and fall face-first into a rock.

Arthur met the remaining four head on. He’d been barely sleeping or eating for the past week while his opponents were strong and well-rested, but Arthur fought as well as always. He was a whirlwind of death on horseback, raining powerful blows on the men trying to break past his guard. One of them tried to slip behind the horse to attack Arthur from the other side, but it kicked him deftly in the chest and he was down gasping.

The others stayed a bit farther away after that, but it was clear to Merlin that sooner or later they’d manage to overpower Arthur. Merlin was so focused on desperately trying to gather enough magic to cast some sort of spell – at that point he’d have been satisfied with a falling branch, or a well-aimed rock – that he’d forgotten about the magicians huddled a bit further away.

He remembered them quickly enough when they sent a magical ball of fire screaming towards them. Merlin managed to dispel it with only instinct and raw adrenaline, then he turned his attention on them.

Kellian, one of Merlin’s former students and a promising physician up until he’d left to pursue battle magic, was chanting the words of a death curse and staring right at Arthur. The world spun to a halt and Merlin raised his hand. Unthinkingly, magic rushed out of him in an overpowering wave and Kellian crumpled to the ground, dead. It was unintentional, shocking. Merlin had never killed before, and he felt Kellian’s death echoing through him, felt the agony of his life force being ripped away.

He sat in a stupor, staring blindly. There was a loud ringing in his ears, and underneath that the faint roar of something that sounded like the ocean. He stared at the corpse on the ground, the corpse he’d created. A single word broke through the silence.

“Merlin!” Arthur screamed.

The sounds of battle rushed in all at once and Merlin blinked furiously, looking up. One of the other sorcerers had taken advantage of his distraction and cast a bolt of lightning at him. It connected solidly with Merlin’s shoulder, sending pain through his body. He screamed and fell from his saddle, hit the ground with a muffled squelch. The breath was knocked out of him and he wheezed feebly in an effort to get even one small mouthful of air, his hands scrambling over the ground. Everything was hazy, though when he turned his head he saw that Arthur was on the ground now, fighting desperately against two men. A third was lying bleeding beside Merlin, staring sightlessly upwards.

The other sorcerers were coming closer now, leaving Kellian’s body lying forgotten on the forest floor. They were chanting again, though Merlin couldn’t make out their words through the pain and panic. Darkness was stealing in at the edges of his vision, and no matter how hard he gasped he couldn’t get any air. His head was pounding, his magic was clamoring for escape. There was nothing else he could do - he released it out into the world, pure directionless energy that screamed out of him. For a moment he was blessedly dry as the blinding heat of the magic evaporated even the raindrops in the air, and then there was only silence, and darkness.

 

**Introductions and Reunions – Midwinter**

*******

 

The first thing Merlin became aware of was the humming. It was a simple song, sad and sweet, vaguely familiar. After that he noticed the hand carding absently through his hair, pausing occasionally to press against his forehead – perhaps to check his temperature. Finally it was the dull ache in his chest, the slight pull of bandages around his shoulder, the dryness in his mouth, the nausea. He frowned slightly and opened his eyes.

At the back of his mind he was expecting his mother, or perhaps Arthur, but he didn’t recognize the young woman sitting beside him. She was plain but pretty, her big brown eyes warm with concern and her full lips curled up slightly in a relieved smile. She had dark brown skin and her black curls were held back by a wide orange scarf wrapped around her head, though a few precocious tendrils had escaped to frame her face.

“Hello,” she said.

“Errr, hi,” he replied, lifting his head slightly to look around him. He was in a large single-room house. It was plain with only the bare minimum of furnishings. There were two more beds on the other side of the room, though neither was occupied, and a large table set up in the middle. It bore the only decoration in the house – a small blue jug filled with branches from a fir tree, some of them even boasting a few pinecones. Merlin turned back to the young woman who was still smiling at him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Just then the door opened, letting in a flurry of snowflakes as Arthur stomped inside. “Gwen! I’ve fed the goats, but we should insulate the chicken coop before it gets even colder. One of the hens froze already and we can’t afford for any more to die off before spring-“

Merlin hadn’t realized he’d been worried until he saw that Arthur was safe and sound, a weight lifting off his shoulders.

“Your warlock’s awake,” Gwen interrupted.

“I’m not _his_ warlock!” Merlin muttered. He struggled to sit up, the blankets sliding down to his lap and uncovering his bare chest. There was a painful twinge in his bandaged shoulder but he paid it no mind. Arthur was still standing just inside the doorway, looking at him in surprise. Arthur’s eyes slid downwards from Merlin’s face and he paused, blushing. Merlin looked down to see what he was so fixated on, only to see he was staring at the pendragon sigil tattooed over Merlin’s heart. Merlin frowned and spared a moment to curse Nimueh and her stupid ideas about destiny before turning to Gwen.

“Could I have my shirt, please?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“ _No?_ ” Merlin repeated incredulously.

“Well, your shirt was nearly burnt to a crisp so you don’t have a shirt anymore, you see. But you could have a different shirt, certainly. Of course you could have a shirt, I mean, obviously. Just not _your_ shirt-“ she stopped abruptly and bit at her lip with a strained smile.

“Yes, fine,” Merlin said. Abruptly he became aware of the pressure in his bladder and he slid his legs out of bed with a groan, wincing as his feet touched the cold dirt floor. Even that simple action left him exhausted, and he frowned even harder. There was a persistent ache behind his eyes, and his stomach was so empty he felt hollow. In short – everything was terrible.

Gwen helped him pull on a rough tunic – somehow he’d managed to miss where exactly she had gotten it – and then he was fighting to stand up.

“What are you doing?” Arthur demanded, clearly having regained his powers of speech at last.

“Going to take a piss,” Merlin replied. “Come here and help me.”

Arthur blanched, taking an involuntary step backwards. “I-“

“For the love of the gods, I’m not asking you to _hold it_ for me,” Merlin interrupted crossly, “just get me out the damn door and prop me up so I don’t fall over, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Gwen tried to hide a grin, though Arthur still looked uncertain.

“Arthur, if you don’t get over here and help me up _right now_ I swear to all that is holy, I will pee on all the things you love. There’s a limit to how long I can wait, so would you _just_ -“

Gwen laughed outright then, absolutely delighted by Merlin’s threats or Arthur’s scandalized expression, or maybe both. Merlin didn’t much care since Arthur was finally coming over. He knelt on the ground beside Merlin to fish around under the bed, pulling out a pair of boots. Between the three of them they managed to put the boots on Merlin’s feet, and soon Arthur was sliding in under Merlin’s shoulder and wrapping an arm securely around his waist.

They only walked a short distance away from the door before Merlin tugged them to a stop and then pissed on the ground with a satisfied groan while Arthur looked off to the side, ignoring him resolutely. It seemed to take forever, but finally Merlin was done and looking up for the first time. They were behind the house and on the edge of what was clearly a very small village. Snow covered the ground in a thick blanket and before them, completely out of place, was a wall. It rose thirty feet into the air and  Merlin couldn’t be sure, but it looked like it was made of earth, and stones, and thick twisting vines. He frowned, staring. “What is _that_?” he asked.

“We were all waiting to ask _you_ ,” Arthur replied. “It started growing a few days after I brought you here.”

“ _What_?”

“Yeah. It happened practically overnight, too. The shepherds weren’t too happy about it, but then again they weren’t complaining two weeks ago, when raiders attacked and the wall, it… Well. It ate them.”

“It _what_?” Merlin demanded incredulously, still staring at the wall. It didn’t look particularly menacing. Birds had even built nests in some of the more covered hollows, keeping out of the wind and weather.

“Yeah,” Arthur said. “They tried to climb it, and when they were half way up it just sort of-” Arthur relinquished his hold on Merlin’s waist and held out his hands before him as if he were fondling a particularly large pair of breasts. He squeezed his fingers together while making a loud slurping sound, “-ate them.”

Merlin swayed a little where he stood, and Arthur quickly slipped his arm back around his waist. “I’ve been here two weeks?” he asked faintly.

“You’ve been here over a month, Merlin,” Arthur replied. “You’ve been pretty delirious the whole time, going in and out of consciousness, but this is definitely the first time you’ve been lucid enough to demand I help you take a piss.”

Merlin winced. He resolutely refused to think about the implications of having been bedridden for a month, who must have been taking care of him, and how.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” Arthur said.

They shuffled back into the house where Gwen was waiting, and she helped Merlin settle back on the bed, arranging the thin pillows a little more comfortably behind him. “So what else has my magic been doing without my knowledge?” Merlin asked wearily.

Arthur shrugged and looked away. “Not too much. It’s been very keen on polishing my armor, and keeping my sword sharp. Other than that…er. Well, there’s been a few fires, but they were pretty small. Oh, and when old man Jesse slipped while climbing your wall, instead of falling he sort of – floated gently down to the ground.”

“Wonderful,” Merlin muttered darkly. He reached for his magic and felt nothing, not even the faintest tingle. It was like climbing a staircase in the dark and expecting a step only to feel your foot fall through the ground. Merlin frowned and sank back into the pillows. This was all Arthur’s fault. Somehow.

The door banged open again and Elyan strode in, shaking snow out of his boots. “I need help with the…” he began, but trailed off when he saw Merlin sitting up in bed. “Lord Merlin,” he said in surprise.

Merlin grimaced. “Elyan? What… You’re here too?”

“I sent him home after your dire warnings,” Arthur said.

“You _sent_ him,” Merlin muttered.

“He didn’t send me anywhere,” Elyan protested.

 “Home? What the hell is going on here? Where am I?” Merlin asked.

 “My name is Gwen, well Guinevere, technically,” Gwen explained with a smile. “Elyan and Arthur are my brothers, and this is our home.

“Brothers,” Merlin said faintly. He could definitely see the family resemblance between Gwen and Elyan. Arthur, though… “Was he abandoned on your doorstep as an infant?” Merlin asked.

Elyan laughed while Arthur glowered.

“No! My mother fled here while she was pregnant and Tom and his family took us in, and- and I don’t see how that’s any of your business!” Arthur exclaimed defensively.

Once again Merlin’s foolish hope that Arthur was the lost prince of Camelot was proven false. He sighed and burrowed deeper into the blankets. He could barely think straight, much less figure out what was going on with his magic and Arthur and everything else.

“Wake me up for dinner, the rest will just have to wait,” he said, and then was fast asleep. He dreamed of a golden sun rising out of a sea of swords.

 

***

 

Merlin awoke with a start. The room was dark around him, illuminated only by one flickering candle.

“Merlin?” he heard the hushed question and turned to see Arthur sitting in a chair beside him, eyes wide with worry.

“You didn’t wake me,” Merlin complained blearily.

“I did. You called me a prat and told me to piss off,” Arthur said with a small smile.

“Oh. Sorry.” Merlin turned away.

“There’s a bowl of stew for you, if you’d like,” Arthur offered quietly.

Merlin considered it for a moment before shaking his head in refusal. He felt nauseated, his stomach rolling unpleasantly. “What happened, back in the forest?” he asked. He’d been too afraid to voice the question before, but something about the soft hush of the room or maybe Arthur’s calm presence gave him the strength.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “After you fell from your horse there was a bright flash of light and all the men were gone.”

“They vanished?”

Arthur shifted uneasily. “No. There were… some bits of them left.”

Merlin found that he wasn’t feeling particularly surprised. He’d lived for decades without shedding a drop of blood, and now he was a murderer. He didn’t know what frightened him more: that he’d killed without even realizing, that it had been so easy, or that even now he didn’t regret it.

“Merlin, you did what you had to. They would have killed us.”

“Yes,” Merlin answered faintly. He’d killed nearly a dozen men who were just doing their duty. He knew that if he’d been alone he would have found a way to escape without hurting them, but the truth was that as he fell he’d seen an awful flash of Arthur’s death at the end of a blade and lashed out in fear and anger.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Merlin said in an unusual moment of honesty.

Arthur ducked his head to hide his smile. “Me too,” he said gruffly. He rubbed at the back of his neck and then hesitantly reached out to place his hand over Merlin’s. “I know you’ve never… that you didn’t want to-“ Arthur coughed awkwardly. “Just, thank you.”

Merlin turned his hand over so they were palm to palm, and then gave Arthur’s fingers a slight squeeze. “Well, someone had to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m glad that someone was you,” Arthur said, his voice so quiet that Merlin almost missed his words.

Apparently that was the limit of Arthur’s ability to talk about feelings, because he abruptly stood up, pulling his hand out of Merlin’s grasp. “I should- I mean. You should rest, and I need to- erm. I need to… go.”

“You have something important to be doing?” Merlin asked.

“Err, yes. Important. Very,” Arthur said, shuffling around. “Get some rest,” he repeated before making a hasty retreat. Merlin watched him leave the small dwelling, smiling fondly. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if it meant protecting Arthur he’d gladly kill hundreds of men – thousands. The thought still filled him with fear, but also a kind of determination. And he still didn’t regret a thing.

 

***

 

The next few days passed without any more sharing of feelings, or particularly enlightening conversations. Merlin tried to regain his strength through excellent food – courtesy of Gwen – and excessive napping. He saw Arthur rarely, and Elyan not at all. He only ventured outside to relieve his bladder, though this was less because he was still weak and more because the townsfolk tended to throw him strange frightened glances whenever they saw him out and about. There were a few magical outbursts, all beyond Merlin’s control. He felt as if here were four years old again – his magic responding to badly repressed impulses rather than any conscious effort on his part. He wondered if killing had broken something inside of him, or if this was some kind of penance the Old Religion had brought on him. If nothing else, Nimueh had drilled into him the importance of balance.

The peace and quiet was chafing at him, his fears only increasing with time. Was Cenred still looking for him and Arthur? Would they awake one morning to an army outside the wall? When would he manage to figure out what was wrong with him and regain control of his magic?

A week into this hell and he was about to start pulling his hair out. Whenever he asked Arthur where, _exactly_ , his home village was Arthur only shrugged vaguely and said “outside of Cenred’s Kingdom,” as if that was any answer. He either didn’t have a map or didn’t want to share it, and Merlin was quickly getting fed up with the whole thing, ready to head out and find out for himself. Which was obviously when the blizzard hit, and he was trapped inside the house once again.

Noting his restlessness Gwen set him to helping with her baking. He followed her instructions dutifully, mindlessly slicing winter apples and rolling out dough. Embarrassingly enough it was a full two days later, after making what seemed like dozens of pies, that he started to wonder what all the food could _possibly_ be for. It wasn’t until Arthur returned with a bushel of evergreen branches and set about weaving them into wreaths that he finally got around to asking what was going on.

Arthur only looked up at him in wide-eyed incredulity while Gwen gave out a startled little laugh, quickly stifled. “It’s the midwinter festival tomorrow night,” she explained.

“The what?”

“Surely you had festivals in Ealdor?” Arthur asked with a smirk.

Merlin frowned at him before going back to kneading dough, slightly more vehemently than usual.

“You really _are_ a bit thick, aren’t you,” Arthur said.

“Not as thick as you are rude,” Merlin retorted.

He wasn’t particularly looking forward to a festival. For one, all the merry-making would no doubt make it impossible to sleep, and he wasn’t doing too well on that front as it was. Still, he wouldn’t mind a night without Arthur’s plaintive glances and Gwen’s well-meaning but overbearing concern.

The following night, of course, it was made clear to him that Arthur was not about to leave him to his peace and quiet. Merlin had no warm winter coat nor cloak, so Gwen wrapped him up into a blanket and Arthur helped push him outside towards the blazing bonfires and the overjoyed laughter of the other townsfolk.

A brief hush spread through the revelers when Merlin stepped out of the house, and they glared at him while he walked past. Merlin clutched the blanket closed tightly under his chin and defiantly dragged his boots through the snow, but Arthur was undeterred, steering him unerringly towards the large food-laden feast tables. They sat next to each other for a while, watching the celebration around them. Merlin piled food onto a plate and ate with his fingers, watching the dancing. Occasionally someone would throw a dark look his way, but these were rare and fleeting and Merlin huddled further into himself, trying to ignore them.

Before long a pretty young girl came over and drew Arthur away for a dance. Arthur looked at Merlin in concern before he left, but Merlin smiled and waved him on his way. After that he sat alone. He caught a few glimpses of Gwen smiling as she spun around the fire with a pair of young girls, Elyan laughing with a group of grey-haired farmers. Through it all was Arthur – dancing as elegantly as a prince, his movements as natural and sure as if this was just another form of swordplay. It seemed as though every time Merlin saw him whirl past, he was with a different smiling girl – each more happy and beautiful than the last. This, more than the careful distance the townsfolk kept from him, made him glower at his plate and consider making his way back to bed.

He was staring morosely at his half-eaten meat pie when a young girl sidled up to him, sitting so close that their thighs pressed together. He startled, and looked up into a pair of eyes as dark as the night. “Greetings Emrys,” she said.

“Hello,” he replied dumbly. She was pretty, fey and pale in the moonlight, the golden light from the bonfires seeming to shy away from the soft planes of her face. Dark hair fell past her shoulders in curls, and she was wearing a flowing dress which seemed to be much too thin for the snowflakes drifting slowly from the skies. Something about her seemed awfully familiar, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“You do,” she said with a mysterious smile. “Though it has been many years since we last saw each other, Emrys.”

“I prefer Merlin,” he said.

“As you say, Emrys,” she replied with a small nod. She looked away at the full moon wistfully and sighed. “Care to dance?”

Merlin winced and looked away. “I’m not much of a dancer,” he said.

She laughed, quietly enough that the sound should not have been audible over the singing and clapping going on around them, but Merlin heard her laugh all the same, like dozens of bells chiming inside his mind. “Not here, Emrys. Not with the mortals. Come.”

“Come _where_?” he asked, but she just laughed again, and took his hand. She pulled him from his seat and he followed where she led, letting the blanket drop forgotten on the snow. They walked towards the edge of the town, and then to the wall where the thick tangle of roots and branches parted for them like a curtain. They walked through and then past fields and pastures and sheep pens until they were in the gloom of the forest, the light of the full moon throwing their shadows in stark relief against the undisturbed snow.

The girl glanced up at him through her lashes and dropped his hand before taking off into the forest at a loping run. “Come, Emrys!” her melodic voice echoed through the trees. Merlin ran after her, a delighted smile spreading over his lips. He felt strong, the weakness of his injury forgotten, the thrumming of the Earth’s magic a strong presence in his skin, his veins, his heart. He paused to rip his boots off so he could better feel the magic through the soles of his feet as he ran. He caught sight of the girl’s shadow dancing through the trees and followed. Sometimes her silhouette was that of a girl, sometimes a huge cat, and sometimes something as formless as a rushing stream.

In the distance he could hear the merry song of reed flutes, mixing with her ringing laughter. The music grew louder and louder, until it pounded through him as strongly as the blood through his veins.

They ran tireless for hours, ages, and then, between one snow-laden branch and the next, Merlin found himself running into a bright clearing on the edge of a lake, and _summer_. The girl was there waiting to take his hand, and she smiled at his wide-eyed astonishment. Flowers grew on every branch and orbs of golden fire floated through the air. Amongst it all were dancers, twirling elegantly on the soft vibrant grass. They were beautiful to a one, some dressed in gowns of woven grasses and jewel-colored leaves and plain wool, some not dressed at all – their brightly patterned skin glinting in the witch lights. A powerfully-built man with the head of a twelve-point stag presided over the revelry, sitting bare-chested on a throne carved from a fallen oak.

The girl pulled on his hand, gently. “Come dance, Emrys,” she said.

Merlin stared at her in mild surprise, wondering how he’d let a complete stranger, a girl whose name he didn’t even know, lead him into the woods and what looked like a festival of magical beings.

“My name is Freya,” she said, as if reading his mind. “You trusted me once,” she said, smiling, “trust me now.” At her words, everything seemed less pressing, and he let her pull him into the dance.

They whirled past the others until he was giddy and panting, unable to keep a smile off his face. When he was practically faint from exhaustion Freya tugged him towards the edge of the clearing, pushed a goblet of wine to his mouth and fruit into his hands. The wine tasted like sunshine, the fruit tasted like summer, her lips tasted like the freshest mountain spring – cold as ice but soft as fresh-fallen snow. Through it all magic played a steady drum-beat through his mind, shaking his whole body with every move he made. It built up beneath his skin, buzzing like millions of bees desperate to be free.

“It’s alright, Emrys,” Freya whispered in his ear, “let it go.”

He did, releasing the tight desperate grip he usually held on his power, and the clearing filled with intricate streams of golden sparks snaking through the thick grass and making the very earth beneath their feet glow with warmth. The revelers showed their delight by coming towards him, placing their hands reverently against his body, pressing close. One girl kissed his lips, then another, and another, all to the slow murmurs of _Emrys_.

Merlin trembled in their midst until Freya pulled him away from the crowd. She pressed him up against the trunk of a wide birch and boldly plundered his mouth, laying claim to him as surely as planting a flag. The other revelers returned to their dance while Merlin let his hands slip down Freya’s body and tug her closer. He felt like there was something important he was forgetting, but what could be more important than Freya’s long clever fingers unlacing his shirt, and plunging inside?

She pulled away from him, and he raised his head blearily to see the first light of the coming dawn caressing the horizon. The horned man stood and raised his arms. The revelers paused, staring at him, and then they began slowly chanting. Their voices joined together into a low melodic hum, and the waters of the lake began to glow. They walked into the water in a slow procession until the only ones left standing on the bank were Merlin, and Freya, and the horned man.

“Come, Emrys,” Freya said with a smile, holding onto his hands.

Merlin blinked slowly, staring into the light. “Come where?” he asked.

“To Avalon,” she murmured, leaning close to ghost a breath over his cheek.

Merlin wanted to go, he did. But something kept him from stepping closer, and he frowned. The horned man stared at him expectantly.

“Why now?” Merlin asked. The rising sunlight brought clarity to his mind, and he slowly took a step backwards, letting his hands slide out of Freya’s hold. “It’s been decades since I’ve crossed paths with any magical creature; so why is it that you’ve brought me here _now_?”

Freya smiled kindly as she looked up into his face, but didn’t try coming any closer. “The witch wanted you for herself, Emrys. Her curse hid you from us. But now that you’ve come into your power no mortal priestess can hope to claim you. Now we’ve found you, and we welcome you with open arms.”

“The witch?” Merlin asked faintly, frowning. “Nimueh?”

“Forget her, and the rest of the mortals you’ve tied yourself to,” the horned man said. “Come home, with us.” His voice was like the low rumble of thunder echoing through Merlin’s bones. Merlin shivered, and took another step backwards.

“Come with us,” Freya pleaded.

“I can’t,” Merlin said. “I have people here. Things I need to do. Responsibilities I need to fulfill.”

“You don’t owe the mortals anything,” the horned man said. “Not anymore.”

Merlin shook his head to try and further clear his thoughts, and stumbled further away. He thought of Arthur, of his expectant blue eyes and hopeful gaze, his belief that he would be the one to pull Excalibur from the stone. “I can’t,” he repeated.

“Emrys…” Freya whispered.

“You can choose to stay with them,” the horned man said, “but you are not one of them. Before you lies eternal summer, and youth, and joy. Behind you there is only pain and despair. If you choose to stay you will be cursed to watch everyone you love wither away and die. You will be alone, and wretched, slowly breaking until you are but a shell of your former self – doomed to wander a land that no longer has a place for you.

“Come with us, Emrys. The gates of Avalon will not open for you again.”

Merlin shuddered, and felt tears well up in his eyes. He had no doubt that the horned man was speaking the truth, and yet – Arthur’s face rose to the forefront of his mind. He paused for a long moment as the edge of the sun rose languorously over the horizon.

“My name is Merlin,” he said.

Freya’s smile turned into a frown, and the horned man inclined his head.

“As you wish, Emrys,” he said. He held out a hand and, with one last sad look, Freya turned away from Merlin and moved to the horned man’s side. They walked into the lake together, and when they were gone beneath the water the sun broke over the horizon and lit the clearing with clean white light.

Merlin found himself standing barefoot and knee-deep in undisturbed snow, frozen to the bone. He huddled into himself and reflexively wrapped his magic around himself like a warm cloak. The power jumped eagerly into his grasp now, and he found himself smiling bitterly as he turned away.

 

***

 

It was several hours after sunrise when the village’s tangled wall finally came into view. Merlin could just barely make out a small silhouette huddled at the top of the structure and he quickened his step. When he reached the wall, tendrils unfurled from it to form a rough staircase, and he walked steadily until he was standing next to Arthur – because of _course_ it was Arthur – at the very top.

Arthur stirred from his hunched position to stare at him. Merlin paused, drinking in the sight of him. Arthur's eyes were red as if he'd been weeping, and his skin pale with cold. Arthur's presence was like a weight pulling on Merlin's heart. He was so real, his flaws so much more satisfying than the cold perfection of the fey. Merlin sat down beside him.

“You came back,” Arthur said quietly. “I thought…”

“Of course I came back,” Merlin said, trying to sound more at ease than how he felt. He'd almost left the human world behind, and now he was seeing everything with fresh eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I saw you leaving,” Arthur replied, not meeting his gaze. Merlin knew he wasn't fooled.

“Well,” Merlin said, touching Arthur’s shoulder gently. Arthur leaned into him, and Merlin felt him shaking. “I can’t be expected to watch you _all_ the time, can I?” He was aiming to make Arthur smile, but his attempt fell flat.

“Where did you go?” Arthur asked.

“Avalon,” Merlin said, looking away. “Or as near it as I’ll ever get. The fey throw a much better festival than you lot, you know.”

Arthur smiled briefly, but he was quickly somber once again. “What happened?”

“They told me my destiny,” Merlin said. He thought back to the horned man’s words, and shivered.

“And what is your destiny, Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“A bunch of bollocks,” Merlin groused.

Finally Arthur’s lips quirked up helplessly. “I take it you didn’t like what they had to say, then.”

Merlin paused, and then smiled. “I’m the most powerful sorcerer alive. I think I can choose my own fate.”

“And you chose to come back here?” Arthur asked, peering at him out of the corner of his eyes. He was trying so hard to conceal the hope in his voice, but it was useless.

“I choose to serve and protect you,” Merlin said, “for as long as I shall live.”

Arthur flushed and turned his head away, but not before Merlin saw him smile.

“Let’s go, Your Highness,” Merlin joked, “before you catch cold.” He solemnly held out his hand for Arthur to take. Arthur looked up at him before abruptly scrunching up his face and sneezing into his own palm. Merlin grimaced and pulled his hand away. He’d had quite enough bodily fluids for one day, he didn’t need to add a boy-king’s snot into the mix. “Right. Lovely.”

The wall began to unravel into another staircase before them, this time leading into the village. Merlin didn’t wait for Arthur to pick himself up before starting downwards. He’d just signed his life away to the young man shuffling along behind him, but he felt as though he had the whole world lying before his feet – shiny and new.

 

**Guest – Midwinter**

*******

 

After an incredibly exciting night of magical festivities, beautiful women, and epic pledges of undying loyalty, the days settled back into monotony. Merlin was left staring bitterly out the window at the never-ending snow while Gwen threw worried looks his way and Arthur and Elyan made themselves scarce doing… something. There was a near-constant cacophony of banging metal coming from the forge next door, but after one failed attempt at exploring – which ended with a hammer nearly falling on his head – he decided to leave the two of them alone.

The magic was coming to him more easily now, and he wondered if his night with the fey had something to do with it or if it was something else. Had there really had been a curse on him like they’d claimed, and if so, what had broken it? The longer he thought about it the more he suspected Arthur had something to do with it, though he had no idea how. He felt like he was coming to the end of a long-suffered illness; he was full of a new kind of magical strength the likes of which he’d never felt before. He spent as much time as he could studying his books; at least it broke up some of the monotony of the daily routine. And then, approximately a week later, a very soaked, very cold, very happy Gwaine burst through the door during dinner.

The four of them could only stare in shock as Gwaine shook snow and dead leaves out of her hair and then leaned against the wall to pull off her boots. “You lot don’t exactly make it easy, do you!” She tossed the boots haphazardly towards the hearth, followed closely by her sodden cloak and pack. “The journey was hard enough without having to climb a damn _wall_ at the end!”

She loosened her belt and then strode confidently over to the dinner table, grabbing a stool as she went. She was covered in mud to mid-thigh and her clothing was practically in tatters. There was a healing cut over her cheek and dark circles under her eyes. She winced as she sat down but the face-splitting grin was back almost instantly. “Who’s this lovely lady?” she asked, taking Gwen’s hand tenderly.

Gwen blushed and stammered as she introduced herself.

“Get your paws off my sister,” Arthur grumbled.

“Hello to you too, Princess!” Gwaine said with a laugh, throwing an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and pulling him in for a rough half hug. Arthur grimaced and slid his bowl of stew over to Gwaine at which point she let go of him, attention effectively diverted.

“You smell like sweat and ale,” Arthur said, wrinkling his nose. “What happened to you?”

“What _hasn’t_ happened to me!” Gwaine mumbled around a mouthful of bread. She paused to slurp at the bowl of stew, not bothering with a spoon. Gwen cringed a little, and then immediately looked guilty and forced a small smile.

“After you scarpered off with Lord Magic Fingers, Cenred had me thrown in the dungeons on suspicion of treason. I escaped, obviously, after which I got robbed, kidnapped, and attacked by bears. I drank with giants and diced with sorcerers and rescued a whole caravan of lovely slave girls from bandits.”

“Oh come off it,” Elyan said, rolling his eyes.

“I have the knickers to prove it!” Gwaine exclaimed. “But that’s a story for another time. While you lads have been sitting around snug and safe in this quaint little village, the world has gone _mad_. End of times mad!”

“Now you’re just exaggerating,” Arthur said, though a small note of uncertainty had entered his voice.

“I am, in fact, not exaggerating one bit,” Gwaine said, gesturing emphatically with a piece of bread. “For starters, Cenred’s found himself a sorceress to replace your boyfriend, and she’s a vicious bloodthirsty hag. Pretty, but vicious. She’s been promising to make him High King, and by now he’s gagging for it. As a result, the other kings are getting nervous, and eyeing each other to figure out who they can trust. Olaf’s going to war with Alined, and Bayard’s moving his troops around like he doesn’t know _what_ he’s doing. The Priestesses have stopped allowing pilgrimages to the Isle of the Blessed and the Druids have all but disappeared like rats from a sinking ship.”

Merlin frowned uneasily, his stew forgotten before him.

“And if _that’s_ not enough,” Gwaine continued, “rumors are flying that the heir of Camelot has come and is rising to take the throne. Some say he’s a wild man, that he runs at the head of a pack of wolves – each as big as a horse. Some say he’s a dead man, leading an army of ghoulish wights. Some say that he’s actually a woman – a High Priestess of the old religion. She has lips like rubies and eyes like fire, and they say she’s so beautiful she can make a man come just by smiling at him.” Gwaine smirked. “You can guess which story is my favorite. But the point of this whole merry tale is that if you don’t get off your arse soon, Princess, there won’t be much left for you to be getting off your arse _for_. You’ll be king of salted fields and empty towns and broken corpses.”

“That’s a very vivid picture, Gwaine,” Arthur muttered. “Thank you for that.”

Gwaine shrugged unapologetically. “What, you want me to lie to you?”

“Well _we’re_ ready,” Arthur said petulantly. “That is, if you’ve brought what I asked you for?”

“What now?” Merlin asked, alarmed.

“You can’t even let a girl warm her toes by the fire, can you?” Gwaine grumbled. “No, straight to business with Princess Arthur, as usual.” She pulled over her pack and started rifling through it, though she didn’t seem to be in any hurry. “Here,” she said finally, pulling out a ragged piece of parchment that smelled vaguely of musty straw and manure. She shoved it in Arthur’s face and he didn’t hesitate to spread it out over the table to peer at it intensely. Elyan and Gwen quickly grabbed up their bowls to get them out of the way. Merlin wasn’t nearly as fast, and his bowl and its contents ended up knocked over onto the floor. He wrinkled his nose at this new indignity but by then no one was paying any attention.

“The location of Bayard’s patrols around the city and their routes, just like you asked. Plus the locations of the entrances into the catacombs below the city. You wouldn’t _believe_ what I had to do to get this-“

“Yes, yes,” Arthur interrupted, “You diced with goblins and wrestled wildren and hoodwinked a whole band of warlocks.”

“A surprisingly good guess!” Gwaine said with a laugh.

“Are you certain these are accurate?” Elyan asked, leaning over.

“Accurate as of three days ago,” Gwaine said. “I’m sure a few of these troops have been relocated since then, but on the whole this should be all we need to get to the castle right under Bayard’s nose. Leon will meet us there, and he knows the catacombs well enough to get us the rest of the way.”

“Hold on-“ Merlin interrupted. “What? _What_ are you doing?”

Arthur rolled his eyes like the answer was obvious and Merlin was acting like a complete simpleton. “We’re going to get Excalibur from Camelot, obviously.”

“Right,” Merlin said, frowning.

“This seems like the most likely entry point,” Gwaine said while pointing at a small black X on the map.

“Excellent,” Elyan chimed in, “we can circle around from the north and approach through the darkling woods, less chance of discovery.”

“Unless Bayard has set a heavier guard on the more covered approaches to the Castle,” Arthur said.

“No, see, this particular hatch is far enough away from the city walls that that shouldn’t be a problem,” Gwaine said between hearty slurps of stew.

Merlin frowned harder as the conversation continued around him, Gwaine and Arthur arguing over tactics while Elyan interjected the occasional correction. Merlin could take it no longer. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” he exploded. Four sets of inquisitive eyes turned towards him.

“Your faith is greatly appreciated,” Arthur drawled with a raised eyebrow.

“My _faith_ won’t help you survive against the forces Bayard has guarding the castle,” Merlin replied acidly.

“That’s why we’ll use the siege tunnels to bypass them,” Arthur said. “Besides, most of those men have been stationed there for ages. They’re tired and bored out of their minds, they’re not going to be expecting an attack and we’ll be able to slip in and out with no one the wiser.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes and snatched the bowl away from Gwaine just as she angled her spoon in for another bite.

“Hey!” Gwaine exclaimed as Merlin chanted a brief spell over the stew and an image of the ruins of Camelot materialized in the liquid. A large chunk of beef broke the surface of the stew, marring the image, and Merlin used his own spoon to fish it out before thrusting it at Gwaine, who happily slurped it down. The vision of Camelot solidified somewhat, though the image quality wasn’t ideal. Still, it was clear enough to see the army of tents set up in the countryside, the multitude of campfires and torches lighting the men patrolling the ruins.

Merlin squinted at the mark on the map which showed where Arthur was planning on entering the tunnels, and then concentrated to change the vantage point inside the bowl, displaying a grate set into the side of a small hill. Just beyond the grate, five soldiers in Mercian blue were dicing over a fire while several sentries stood watch within the tree line. They could just make out wooden perches built at the tops of a few trees, occupied by at least two archers each

“Congratulations,” Merlin said, pushing the bowl closer to the center of the table. “You’re all dead. What’s the next brilliant plan?”

“We can approach from the east, then,” Arthur said, undeterred. “It’ll be a tougher journey since we’ll have to go through the mountains, but there’s only a small chance they’ll have it guarded.”

Merlin concentrated to shift the view in the bowl once again. This time it showed an empty field around the small grate.

“See!” Arthur said with a smirk even as Elyan leaned in to get a closer look.

“It’s sealed,” Elyan said.

“What?” Arthur leaned in as well, only to notice that the tunnel past the grate was full of large stones. He sighed in exasperation. “Fine, what about the south? It’s closest to us anyway.”

Merlin rolled his eyes even as the vision in the stew shifted. Yet another concealed grate, this time hidden within a forest. It was neither guarded nor sealed, and Arthur slapped the table in triumph. “Ha! Problem solved.”

“Yes, of course. And how about once you get inside?” Merlin asked. The scene in the bowl shifted again, moving past the grate and into the tunnels beyond. Everyone, even Gwen, leaned in closer to get a better look.

The vision was dark, nearly pitch black, but once it stopped moving and focused on a larger hall beneath the castle they all saw that there was something shifting in the darkness. It was about the right size to be a man, though it moved in an oddly shuffling gait that didn’t appear to be human.

“What is that?” Gwen asked uncertainly.

The vision shifted again, moving further into the hall, and they all saw that there were dozens of the strange creatures moving around aimlessly. The only source of light in the room was the moon shining through a hole in the ceiling where some of the stone had caved in, and everyone besides Merlin gasped as one of the creatures moved into the small spot of light.

It was a skeleton garbed in rusty armor, its sword glinting dimly in the moonlight. It raised its head briefly, as though sniffing at something, and then walked back into darkness.

“What in the nine hells was _that_!” Gwaine yelled.

Merlin just shook his head and let the spell fade until they were looking at a plain bowl of stew once again. “Haven’t you lot ever wondered why Bayard would keep his troops at Camelot even now?”

“I always thought he was maintaining a strategic position… or that he wanted to flaunt his victory,” Arthur said hesitantly.

“His victory was fifteen years ago,” Merlin said. “I’m sure he would have been done flaunting it a while ago if he’d gotten all he wanted. As it is, the Court Sorceress Nimueh activated Camelot’s defenses when it was attacked, summoning the city’s fallen soldiers to guard the castle. But when Nimueh fled, she could no longer control them and they were left wandering the lower levels where they’d risen from their tombs, inadvertently guarding Camelot’s treasure vaults. I reckon that’s why Bayard has left his men sitting around so long. He can’t get to Camelot’s gold, but he also can’t bear to leave it unprotected in the hopes that he’ll find a way to lay the dead to rest and take it for himself.”

“How do you know all of this?” Gwen asked.

“I served Bayard for a time, before Cenred. He asked me to find a way to break the curse.”

“Did you?” Arthur asked hopefully.

“No,” Merlin answered. “But to be honest I didn’t try very hard, either. It seemed fitting somehow that after all Bayard had done to bring Camelot to ruin he’d be unable to plunder her riches, stuck guarding the gold that was just out of his reach.”

“Attaboy!” Gwaine smirked, and then reclaimed her by-now cold bowl of stew.

“So now you see why this is all a colossally awful idea, right?” Merlin asked. “There’s no way to make it inside undetected, and even less chance at escaping alive. You’ll need an army, not just the four of us!”

“Five,” Gwen chimed in. “I’m going with you.”

Merlin sighed. “Fine, _five_. This changes the odds completely.”

Arthur began to smile, and Elyan leaned back in his seat.

“So there are a couple skeletons wandering around,” Gwaine mumbled with her mouth full, “no one said it would be easy.”

“You said five of us,’” Arthur said. “You’re coming with us, then?”

Merlin sighed, defeated. “I think I’ve just conclusively proved that you wouldn’t last an hour without me. Obviously I’m coming _with_ you.”

“Welcome aboard, darling,” Gwaine drawled and gave him a hearty slap on the back.

After that things started to happen very quickly. Merlin, who had grown used to routine monotony, felt dazed as he realized that Elyan, Arthur, and Gwen were already inexplicably packed. Not only that, but they had an extra pack ready for Gwaine as well as Merlin. Plus supplies, equipment, and horses that Merlin hadn’t even know existed, as they were stabled in a barn on the other side of the village and no one had thought it might be important for him to know that he’d been conscripted for a quickly impending death.

They could have left on their ridiculous quest less than an hour after dinner, and judging by Arthur’s naked excitement they would have if Elyan hadn’t insisted they wait for daylight, and Gwaine hadn’t insisted they have a celebratory drink. Merlin was grateful for the drink, at least, and in an unlikely turn of events he and Gwaine ended up being the last two awake, the others having responsibly gone to bed early. Merlin’s hands were shaking though, and his gut was roiling. He still couldn’t quite wrap his brain around what was about to happen, and there was no way he’d be able to fall asleep any time soon. Drinking seemed a much better alternative. Gwaine was pleasant company, and by midnight they ended up giggling about nothing while sitting near the simmering forge fire in the smithy.

“Gods, but hiss ‘n idjit, innhie?” Merlin slurred quietly, letting his head loll against the wall. The room was swimming a little, but it seemed nice, shimmery. “This’s sooo… sstupid… sssTupid death…sstroll.”

Gwaine laughed. “Don’t be so quick, magic fingers,” she answered. She’d had way more to drink than him, but that didn't seem to show when she spoke. Unfair. The world was so unfair. “We’re the stupids stupidly following him… think that makes us the biggest stupids, no?”

Alright, maybe it showed a little. Merlin smiled, and then hiccupped.

“Don’ like that,” he muttered. He sighed melodramatically. “Why… why’re you followin’ im, anywayss?”

Gwaine quieted down and thought for a minute, an exaggerated frown on her face as though she’d never considered the question before and was only just now realizing it. “Well,” she began slowly. “How can we not? He’s… Arthur.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said with a sigh. “Arth’r… clotpole.”

Gwaine laughed hysterically and elbowed him in the side, nearly knocking him over. Merlin didn’t remember much after that.

 

***

 

Morning was just as miserable as he’d expected. Merlin woke on the straw-covered floor of the smithy with Gwaine’s filthy coat thrown over him as a blanket. His head was pounding and he’d been definitely drooling during the night because there was straw stuck to the side of his face and, incidentally, in his hair. It was too bright and his mouth tasted horrible and oh, yeah, today they were all going to die.

At least he was warm, he thought, right before the door slammed open, letting in a huge gust of freezing wind.

“Damn everything to hell,” Merlin cursed, sitting up. He squinted at whoever had come inside, and frowned when he realized it was Gwaine, the miserable bad-choices-encouraging bastard. Gwaine looked far better than should have been possible. Her hair was silky and clean and bound in a secure horsetail at the back of her head by a red ribbon, and she was dressed in pristine clothing that made Merlin realize how inadequately prepared he was for the cold. She was wearing a new tunic and thick gambeson, along with warm woolen britches and  fur-lined boots. Her torso was covered by a long sleeved chainmail tunic with another thick coat over it, the sleeves tucked into fine rawhide gloves. Over everything she wore a fur-lined hooded cloak with long slits at the arms to allow for unrestricted movement. She was grinning widely, as though she wasn’t dealing with the same hideous hangover that he was. Merlin glared in jealousy.

“Rise and shine, Starlight,” Gwaine said. She strolled over as if she owned the whole place and thrust a steaming cup into his hands. “You’ll want to drink that quick. It’s my miracle hangover cure. A witch taught me to make it after I saved her from a chimera.”

“Sure thing,” Merlin muttered, accepting the cup. The warmth felt heavenly on his quickly freezing fingers. “And I bet you wrestled that chimera barehanded too.” He sniffed at the dark liquid in the cup, and flinched a little at the bitter smell of it.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” Gwaine said with a smirk. “I had a dagger and a belt. Now drink up, quickly now.”

Merlin took a huge swallow and nearly spit it all back up. “This is just coffee with whiskey in it!” he sputtered.

“Sure, and a few other things. Trust me,” Gwaine said with a wink.

“Trusting you got me into this mess,” Merlin said, but finished the disgusting drink nonetheless.

“Hey now, is it my fault you're a lightweight?” Gwaine asked with a mock frown. “Now come on, there’s breakfast in the main house, as well as new clothes and a bath. If we’re going to die, might as well leave a pretty corpse, no?”

Either ‘bath’ was the magic word, or Gwaine’s concoction was starting to take effect because Merlin was feeling much more chipper as he walked back into the main house. The full bathtub was in the corner of the main room. Someone – probably Gwen – had hung a large piece of cloth in front of it, offering privacy. There was also a bundle of clothes piled neatly on a chair nearby. Merlin wanted to spend as little time in his currently disgusting clothes as possible, so he didn’t hesitate before shucking those off and stepping into the bath. He heated the water a bit before sinking down, and then he was briefly in heaven.

“You’ll want another of these,” Gwaine said as she walked through the make-shift curtain. Merlin jumped as she did, and then flushed bright red and moved his hands over his crotch. “You boys are always so shy,” Gwaine said with a wink and held out another cup. Merlin just glared, unmoving, until she shrugged and set the cup on the ground. He didn’t move until he was sure that Gwaine was back behind the curtain. He picked up the cup and downed it in four huge swallows. He really was feeling better. Or maybe he was just getting drunk again.

“Where is everyone?” Merlin asked as he started in with the soap.

“Elyan’s packing the horses,” Gwaine’s voice floated back. “Gwen and Arthur are redistributing their livestock amongst the neighbors, or whatever other peasant tasks need doing before we can go on our adventure.”

Merlin rinsed off the soap and regretfully got out of the bath. He barely even had to think about summoning the warm wind that left him dry, and then turned to the clothes before him. He started with some thick socks and linen smallclothes, and then pulled on a pair of woolen leggings. Next there was a short cotton tunic which he tucked into trousers that fit him remarkably well. He put on a longer woolen tunic and then a leather jerkin. Finally the only things left were a pair of fur-lined gloves, thick woolen scarf, fur lined cloak almost identical to Gwaine’s, and a well-made pair of boots. Merlin put on the boots and left the rest for now as he investigated what breakfast could possibly be left.

Gwaine whistled as he came out from behind the curtain, and Merlin frowned at her. “Looking good,” she said with a wink. She was sitting at the table, drinking the same concoction she’d given to Merlin earlier. Merlin ignored her in favor of loading his plate with bread and butter and ham, as well as a few winter apples. He ate ravenously, his head finally clear enough to consider the task ahead.

He was nearly finished when Gwen, Elyan, and Arthur came back inside, all three of them dusted lightly with snow.

Arthur lit up with a smile when he saw Merlin at the table. “You’re ready!” he said.

“Told you I’d have him ready for you,” Gwaine said with a slight leer.

“Everything’s prepared,” Elyan said.

“I’ll go check on my things,” Gwaine said and strolled outside.

“And I’ll check on the forge,” Gwen said. “Elyan, will you help?”

Elyan nodded and the two of them left out the side door, leaving Merlin alone with Arthur.  It all happened so suddenly that Merlin found himself with a half-chewed piece of ham in his mouth unable to respond to any of the activity happening around him. He slowly finished chewing and swallowed before pushing himself away from the table. Arthur was trying not to stare at him, and the fact that he hadn’t made fun of Merlin’s drunkenness last night meant that he was nervous.

“Are you still with us, Merlin?” he asked after a moment of tense silence. “Because I- we need you with us.” He curled his hands into fists and then uncurled them again, the creaking leather loud in the suddenly quiet room.

Merlin smiled. “I realize I wasn’t very enthusiastic about your plan last night. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go off and get yourself killed without me.”

Arthur smiled in relief, and held out his hand. They clasped wrists for a solemn moment. “Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said before letting go.

“We should tidy up before we leave,” Arthur said, looking around the room with a frown. Merlin waved his hand and the fire put itself out, the remaining food on the table packed itself away, and the bathtub silently emptied of water. A variety of small objects rearranged themselves back into their places, and Merlin’s remaining clothing floated over to him. He put on the scarf, cloak, and gloves, and then gave the dimly lit room another look. After a moment’s thought the satchel that contained all of his belongings opened and his miniaturized books began to fly out, growing in size as they left the confines of the satchel. Merlin held open a pocket in his leather jerkin and the books streamed inside, shrinking again as they did. Once he was finished he gave the pocket a satisfied pat and smiled at Arthur.

“Ready, Sire,” he said with only a small hint of sarcasm.

 

**Quest – Late winter**

*******

 

A handful of villagers watched them go, and Arthur gave all of them his best sunshine smile. Elyan and Gwen said goodbye to their friends and neighbors while Gwaine waved indiscriminately to everyone. Merlin hung back, remembering the uneasy glances he’d been getting from the villagers. He wasn’t sure if his reticence to wave was making them more or less nervous, so he shoved the matter from his mind. When they reached the wall Merlin didn’t even have to make a conscious effort for the vines and branches to part, creating a living archway. When they left the confines of the village the wall shut again, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.

The air was cold and crisp. Snow lay on the ground, but it had been long enough since the last snowfall that the trees were mostly bare, the snow blown off their branches by strong winds. The forest they rode through was stark and beautiful, and there were animal sounds in the distance, signaling the presence of life and the eventual coming of spring.

Somehow during the ride Merlin ended up riding just at Arthur’s right. On Arthur’s left was Gwen and Elyan, with Gwaine bringing up the rear. They took an easy pace, and yet Merlin still found himself growing sore and weary by midday. He was glad when Arthur called a halt and they stopped to eat and water the horses. Arthur and Elyan consulted quietly over Gwaine’s map for a few minutes while Gwaine sidled over to Merlin and offered him a drink of his flask, which ended up being the familiar coffee and whiskey mixture. Merlin’s aches felt eased, though his awareness remained unimpeded. He nodded his thanks to Gwaine, and by the time they all remounted, Merlin felt much better.

"We're getting close," Arthur said in the late afternoon. "Stay alert."

Merlin straightened up guiltily, realizing he'd been drifting off into a daydream during the journey. Gwaine loosened her sword in her sheath and Gwen nimbly strung her bow and made sure the arrows in her waist quiver were within easy reach. They rode on at a more sedate pace, tension rising as the light faded.

The moon rose full and bright in the dark sky, its light reflecting off the snow around them and creating enough ambient glow to ride by. A branch snapped nearby and they all jumped at the noise, only to laugh uneasily when they realized it had just been a crow rooting through the underbrush.

Merlin's horse tossed its shaggy head uneasily and Merlin tightened his grip on the reigns. He could see his breath streaming out before him in thick white clouds. The forest looked empty, and yet something didn't seem quite right. This chest felt hot and tight, his heartbeat racing. He cast a discreet charm to let him see further afield, and his eyes widened when he noticed dark shadows struggling beyond the next rise.

"Arthur," he said quietly, spurring his horse forward. "There are warriors ahead."

Arthur pulled his horse to a stop and the five of them converged into a loose circle. "How many?" Arthur asked.

"A dozen, maybe two."

"We should avoid them," Elyan suggested.

"We can take them," said Gwaine. "If it's a patrol they may discover our tracks. Best to surprise them now, so they don't surprise us later."

"It's too many," Gwen said, her hand going down to take hold of an arrow nervously.

"We have Merlin on our side," Arthur said. He turned to Merlin then, and their eyes met in the dark. "What do you think?"

Merlin looked over to where he knew the armed men were. If he listened closely he could hear shouts and the clang of steel. His chest was burning, pulling him towards the fray for no reason he could articulate.

"There's a battle going on, and as much as I want to avoid it I feel like we have to go."

Arthur nodded solemnly. "Alright. Elyan, Gwaine, stay on my flank. Gwen and Merlin, cover us from the back. Be careful, everyone."

The knights nodded their assent and Gwen and Merlin exchanged uneasy glances. And then they were off.

The sounds of battle grew louder as they approached, and within minutes they came into view of the skirmish. Two figures, one incredibly broad and tall while the other lean and shorter, were fighting back to back against a circle of nearly twenty warriors. As soon as Merlin saw them he realized why his chest was burning; he had forgotten about the amulets he had given to Arthur and his friends.

"That's Percival!" Gwaine hissed in astonishment. "I'd recognize those biceps anywhere!"

"Quickly," Arthur said through gritted teeth, and they broke into a gallop in their rush to help.

Gwen let go of the reigns of her steed to draw an arrow, guiding the horse expertly with her thighs instead. The knights drew their swords but it was Merlin who acted first, flinging three men who were on the verge of overpowering Percival into a tree. There was a faint twang as Gwen released her arrow, and the soldier that was about to deal a blow to the shorter man fell backwards instead, an arrow sprouting from his eye socket. When Merlin turned to her in shock she already had another arrow ready to fire, and a second man down on the ground before he even turned back.

The enemy soldiers realized they were under attack, and turned to them only to be met with Arthur, Elyan, and Gwaine head on. Percival and his friend took advantage of their distraction and took out two more men. Merlin tried to keep track of the battle, but it was so chaotic all he could focus on was keeping his friends safe. One of the enemies had a bow, he realized as an arrow narrowly missed him. He found the man hiding up a tree, and pulled him down with a twitch of his wrist. The man screamed as he fell, and hit the frozen earth with a horrible crunch. Merlin shuddered as he felt his life blink out, but there was no time to think about what he'd done.

He saw a man throw a knife at Arthur's back and deflected it easily, sending it back to lodge in the man's own throat. Arthur and his own were a force to be reckoned with, and the two last men left alive turned to flee. Merlin plucked them into the air as easily as picking up rats by their tails and then flung them hard into the ground. One man died instantly while the other groaned in agonizing pain, and Merlin didn't think twice before wringing his neck with a twist of his fingers.

When he looked back he realized that all was quiet and still, and Arthur was off his horse and clasping arms with Percival. Merlin felt weary as he turned his horse to make his way over.

"Well done," Arthur said to the assembled group with a grim smile.

"Thanks for coming when you did," Percival said. His companion, who Merlin now recognized to be Lancelot, nodded his assent.

"I thought we'd been dead for sure, until I saw your arrow, my lady," he said to Gwen and took her hand to press a reverent kiss against it. Even in the darkness Merlin could see her blush.

"It was nothing- I mean it was something, I'm just not- I'm-" she broke off her stuttering, her flush growing ever brighter. "I mean, I'm Guinevere. Gwen."

"Delighted to meet you," Lancelot said with complete honesty, obviously charmed. His eyes grew comically large when he realized he was still holding Gwen's hand and he let go with a hushed apology, now just as red as she was.

"You never call _me_ lady," Gwaine groused good-naturedly.

"You're no lady," Percival said, and received a punch to one of his massive arms for his trouble.

"Where's Leon?" Arthur asked.

"We split ways once we escaped Cenred's dungeon so it would be harder to track us," Lancelot said, "but he must be close."

"Let's hope," Elyan said.

"We'd better move on," Arthur said, "before someone comes to investigate."

"Agreed, but first you'll want to see what we brought you," said Lancelot. Arthur leaned closer, curious, when Percival retrieved a thick cloth-wrapped bundle from the ground. He unrolled it slowly to reveal six swords. Merlin knew nothing of swords, but he could tell from Arthur's expression that these were very fine. Arthur picked one up and gave it an experimental swing. The air sang as the sword cut through it, and as it caught the moon's reflection Merlin was momentarily blinded. He no longer saw the forest, but only Arthur - Excalibur in his hand and a crown on his head.

When Merlin blinked, the vision was gone and he was in the dark forest once again. The sword in Arthur's hand was perfectly ordinary, except now Merlin could clearly make out the Pendragon crest on the pommel.

"Where did you get these?" Arthur asked, his voice hushed and still slightly awed.

"We took a short detour through Bayard's treasury on our way here," Percival said with an abashed grin. "He was keeping a few of these as trophies. Such a waste of fine steel."

"I'm sorry Lady Gwen, Lord Merlin," said Lancelot. "We didn't think to bring swords for the two of you."

"No matter," Arthur said. "Gwen has her bow and the sword Elyan forged for her. And Merlin is rubbish with a sword anyway; he'd just fall over and impale himself."

Merlin glared at him instead of unleashing any of the retorts he had building up on the tip of his tongue. "I have no need of a sword," he replied, somewhat testily. He focused on the corpses strewn around the clearing. His eyes flared golden with power and vines burst out of the ground to wrap themselves around the bodies and drag them beneath the earth. A hushed word and the wind picked up, smoothing over kicked up snow and covering up still steaming bloodstains. In less than a minute it was as though the battle had never been.

Arthur's wide astonished eyes were more gratification than a million nasty retorts could ever have been, and Merlin couldn't help a smile.

"Good to have you on our side, Lord Merlin," said Percival, slightly breathless.

Gwaine was the one to break up the moment, as usual. "Alright, stop gawking and hand over my shiny new sword. We should get gone."

Arthur handed over each sword reverently until there was only one left, Leon's. The seven of them wandered around looking for Percival and Lancelot's horses, which had spooked and run off during the battle. Luckily they were trained well enough not to go far, and their group was soon underway.

Arthur rode at the head of their small column, the other four knights keeping a protective circle around Merlin and Gwen. Merlin kept his eyes closed and his head down, looking for Leon with his magic as they rode. With the amulet for a focus the search was decidedly easier, and a few hours before midnight they came upon him waiting on a ridge overlooking the ruins of Camelot. They exchanged solemn greetings in the moonlight before Merlin found his gaze drawn to the city before them.

The city was illuminated by the numerous fires of Bayard's camped forces. Perhaps they had once been orderly, but over the years they'd been occupying the dead city they had fallen into disarray. There was no rhyme nor reason for where the greatest concentration of troops appeared, and if Merlin focused closer he could see that many of the soldiers still awake were stumbling around drunkenly, or entertaining themselves with gambling, wrestling, or fucking wherever the rubble wasn't too thick. A few buildings had been haphazardly rebuilt but these seemed mostly to be taverns. A few houses here and there still had intact roofs, and these were crammed full of sleeping soldiers.

The castle itself was like a dark cliff within the circle of lights, with a thick barricade encircling it made of broken stone and cracked furniture. Not even the drunkest soldiers stumbled anywhere close to it. Clearly the fear of the shambling skeletons within was alive and well, despite the general directionlessness of the soldiers and their mission there.

"It pains me to see Camelot so," Leon said quietly. "It was a beautiful city, and a prosperous kingdom, once."

"It will be again," said Arthur, and Merlin marveled at the conviction in his voice.

Merlin swore he saw a single tear form in Leon's eye when Arthur handed him his sword. It soon turned out that Leon had brought gifts of his own. He pulled out six bundles to hand out to Arthur and his knights, keeping one back for himself. When they were unwrapped Merlin saw that they were fine red cloaks, the Pendragon sigil painstakingly stitched out in gold thread over the shoulders of each.

"I knew I would have cause to wear this again," Leon said as he put his on. "I have kept safe my cloak and those of my fallen brothers for long years, and it gladdens my heart to once again see them in the light."

"Thank you, Sir Leon," said Arthur humbly. Merlin questioned the wisdom of going on a stealth mission while wearing bright red cloaks complete with shining targets stitched on, but for once he decided to keep his mouth shut. He and Gwen shared an exasperated look and Merlin contented himself with muttering a charm that would at least keep the gold thread of the sigils from reflecting the moonlight too brightly.

Luckily the touching and symbolic moment didn't last much longer, and they were on their way once again, traveling along the ridge towards one of the grates that marked the entrance into Camelot's catacombs. Merlin occasionally gave whispered warnings when he felt Bayard's patrols drawing too near, and they managed to avoid any more trouble before they reached their destination.

They made camp in a small forest clearing some distance back from the ridge and Arthur solemnly assigned watch duty, everyone serious in the face of their quest’s true beginning.  They couldn’t make a fire so close to enemy forces, and ate hard cheese, sausage, and bread for their supper. Even Gwaine seemed somehow humbled, making only a few jokes as opposed to her usual steady flow. Even so, when it came time to sleep Merlin found that it was something closer to excitement, and not fear, that was keeping him awake.

He drifted in and out of sleep, fitful dreams keeping him from getting any true rest. A hooting owl flew by, its call enough to break Merlin from any pretense of sleep. He lay silently, feeling jumpy and wide awake as he listened to the quiet sounds of his companions slumbering peacefully.

Merlin sat up, rubbing his face dejectedly. He was still tired, but he couldn't deny the restless energy that ran through his limbs, pushing him to get up, to walk, to do something, though he didn't know what. He was careful not to wake anyone as he rose and walked beyond the clearing that was their camp. Before he knew it he found himself on the edge of the close-by ridge. It wasn't as high up here as it was where they had met up with Leon, and the land beneath was thick with trees, blocking much of his view of the city. He could still make out the winking lights of fires in the distance, could almost hear the soldiers beyond.

He shivered, though not with cold. A strange energy ran through him, making his skin prickle with goosebumps. He felt a thin but steady pull from the castle, beckoning him closer. Merlin closed his eyes, trying to figure out the source of the magic. It was stronger than anything he'd ever felt, an ancient power just below the surface of his awareness. He reached out to it, only to have it slip from his grasp.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Merlin jumped, startled. He had been so focused on the castle that he hadn't noticed anyone come near. He turned, and it was Arthur standing beside him, looking not at the city but at the stars above them. There were more stars than could ever be counted, their brightness turning the sky into shimmering velvet.

"Yes," Merlin said.

"Do you ever wish," Arthur started quietly, "that things had been different?"

Merlin laughed quietly. "Almost every day." He turned to look at Arthur, concerned. "Are you having second thoughts about coming here? It's not too late to turn back. They won't think any less of you."

Arthur shook his head with a small smile. "No, I don't regret this," he said. "I just wish we had more time." He looked up into Merlin's eyes, blue meeting blue. Merlin's breath caught in his throat at the intensity of Arthur's gaze. Arthur took a step towards him, so close now that Merlin could practically feel the heat of his body in the space between them.

"After this, everything will be different," Arthur said, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper. Merlin found himself unable to look away, and then before he knew it Arthur was taking that last step forward and tilting his head up to press his lips against Merlin's.

Merlin gasped, and Arthur took advantage of his parted lips to press closer. Whatever objection Merlin might have had was completely gone, and almost without conscious thought his hands drifted up to cradle Arthur's face. Arthur sighed, sinking into him. For a few moments it was pure bliss, and then Merlin came back to his senses. He pulled away with a start, the sound of his own hammering heart filling his ears.

“We shouldn’t,” he said. He’d expected Arthur to argue, to ask why. But Arthur only looked at him with clear blue eyes, and Merlin didn’t think he was imagining the small smile playing over Arthur’s lips.

“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” Arthur said at last. “You should get some rest.”

There was little else for Merlin to do then but turn away and stumble back to his bedroll in the darkness, a storm of emotion raging through him. He couldn’t help replaying the kiss over and over in his mind while he lay in the darkness, and then, against all odds, sleep took him under.

 

***

 

Merlin woke to the gray light of dawn just as Leon was returning from his watch. He sat up to see everyone else stirring around their non-existent campfire. No one said much as they ate a breakfast much like their recent dinner, other than Gwen and Lancelot’s occasional flirtatious comments. Arthur glared at Lancelot as the blacksmith-turned-knight kissed Gwen’s hand in response to one of her stuttering courtesies. Arthur finally managed to stop glaring when punched in the shoulder by Gwaine and then, much harder, by Percival.

When the sun’s first gold rays broke the horizon all eight of them were already preemptively gathered around the grate, shoulders hunched in anticipation.

“Our goal is the throne room,” Arthur said. “That’s where Excalibur is. Leon-“ he said, turning to the older knight. “You know the way to get us there from here?”

Leon nodded slowly. “Yes, sire. Provided that the way isn’t completely blocked by debris.”

“Be careful,” Merlin said quietly. “I’ll be able to take care of some rubble, but the wights inside are undead and invulnerable. Our weapons can’t hurt them, so we should stay close to each other and avoid them as best we can. And when we can’t- we run.”

“You can’t fight them, Merlin?” Gwen asked.

Merlin shook his head. “I may be able to prevent them from getting to us, but I can’t stop them completely, not with how little I know about these creatures. There are thousands of them wandering around, too many even for me to protect us.”

“Alright,” Arthur said with a stern nod. “We avoid them when we can, and run when we can’t.”

There was a long pause as most of the circle hesitated around a long inhale of air. Gwaine looked between all of their faces before smirking and slapping Arthur on the shoulder a little too hard for a friendly gesture. “Alright lads, don’t lose your senses quite yet. I’m not getting through here alone, and I’m not willing to pass up this story. Gird your loins, and all that. We’ll get through it just fine.”

Gwen giggled nervously, and Lancelot joined in if only through the sheer force of his attraction to her. Somehow this made the nervous laughter spread throughout the whole group and Merlin was the only one left out of the back patting and knee slapping.

“Alright,” Arthur repeated. “Are we ready?”

All of the knights nodded, including Gwen. That only left Merlin. He sighed and took a long last look around the forest. He brushed his fingers through his hair and silently bid his past life good bye. There was no turning back now.

“Stay close,” he said, and then blew the grate out.

They all peered nervously into the dark entrance of the catacombs. Surprising even himself, Merlin was the first to move. He slid carefully through the opening into the tunnel, making sure to land on the slick stones making up the floor as quietly as possible. He moved forward a few steps to make room for the others, and then closed his eyes to probe for obstacles in their path. The air was musty and smelled of mold and death, though Merlin did his best to ignore it. He moved his scarf up to cover his mouth and nose, and was relieved to note that the smell of wool dampened the foulness of the passage.

He barely even had to think to conjure a few globes of cool blue light, sending them floating in a rough semicircle to light the way ahead.

“Sir Leon,” he whispered once he heard the man come through. “The way ahead is blocked, is there another route we can take?”

Leon walked up to him slowly, his ungloved hand trailing against the frankly disgusting slime that seemed to cover all of the surfaces within the catacombs. “To the right,” he said confidently.

Merlin quested along the path and found no great obstacles. He nodded, and then they were moving forward. The knights were doing their best to muffle the jangling of their armor and weapons, but it was still loud enough that Merlin was worried they’d draw the wrong kind of attention. They’d been walking for half an hour when his fears finally became reality.

He drew to an abrupt stop when he felt the sickly energy of wights shifting up ahead. Merlin dimmed the lights and gripped Leon’s shoulder in warning, and gratifyingly the knight understood what he meant instantly. They paused for a second before Leon shook his head and lead them into a different tunnel to the left of the one they’d been traveling through.

They moved for another few minutes before Merlin once again felt their path was obstructed. Leon took them down a different hall, but less than five minutes later they were forced to turn away again, and again, and again.

And then they found themselves in a small room with three halls leading out of it, all of them blocked by the slowly advancing wights.

“Fuck,” Merlin hissed. The knights unsheathed their swords, staring nervously into the darkness. There was nowhere to run. Within seconds the sounds of the shuffling corpses filled the halls, growing louder with every moment. Gwen slung her bow over her shoulder, realizing it would be useless against the undead, and unsheathed her sword.

“Steady,” Arthur said quietly, eyes scanning the darkness. “Leon, which way should we be heading?”

“Ahead of us, sire,” Lean said, pointing towards a particularly dark and foreboding passage.

“Alright,” Arthur said, still seeming in complete control of the insane situation. “We fight our way through. We know we can’t defeat these monsters, so we’ll have to content ourselves with simply getting them out of our way. Percival, Elyan – the two of you take the lead. Merlin, support them. Leon, let us know which way to turn. The rest of us will protect our flanks.”

“Got it,” the knights echoed one after another. Merlin wasn’t particularly enthused about the situation but they were already in too deep to retreat so he kept his doubts to himself. They rearranged their formation and then they were moving through the corridor.

The groaning and shuffling reached a crescendo and the first skeletons emerged from the darkness behind their little group. Gwen couldn’t contain a small squeak of fear and Lancelot instinctively moved in front of her, knocking the first skeleton away. A handful more appeared behind, but they didn’t seem to be in a hurry to attack. Even when they did, Arthur, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Gwen seemed like they had the situation well in hand. Merlin turned his attention back to Percival, Elyan, and Leon at the front of their group as he tried to figure out how they would make their way through the tight passage.

There only seemed to be a few wights head of them, but a nagging feeling urged Merlin to push his awareness further. He nearly fainted from the feeling of thousands of undead shambling skeletons converging on their position. Somehow they all knew where to go, and they were all coming for Merlin and the knights.

Obviously no one noticed Merlin pale in the darkness, but Merlin wasn’t about to shoulder the knowledge of impending doom alone.

“They know where we are,” he said breathlessly. “They’re all coming here. NOW.”

“Fuck,” Gwaine cursed, knocking a skeleton away with the flat of her sword. She hit his helmet, creating a dull clang that seemed to ring through Merlin’s very bones.

“We’ll fight our way through,” said Arthur in the convinced tone of someone so completely naïve they thought that everything always worked out for the best. Merlin hoped this wouldn't be the time that showed him otherwise.

“We’ll be fine,” Merlin found himself saying, even as he tried to shove the dread back down his own throat. He thought he was about to vomit.

Percival and Elyan made contact with skeletons, and started beating them back with strong blows to the left and right. Leon stepped forward to catch the monsters that slipped through their wall of muscle, occasionally giving directions. Merlin tried to throw the wights backwards but they were wreathed in a dark oily magic that seemed to repel his own, leaving him straining just to push them back a few feet. The fighters at the back seemed to be faring better. The skeletons weren’t too determined to push forward, joints creaking and armor scraping against the walls of the passage as they shambled forward carelessly.

For a time they moved at a crawl through narrow corridors, fighting for every inch, stepping over twitching flailing skeletons in their inexorable move forward.

“The way up is ahead,” Leon said at last, though he sounded worried.

Merlin let his magic search ahead, and soon the reason for Leon’s worry made itself clear. The very large room ahead did seem to have some sort of staircase in it, along with the entrances to five other corridors and approximately a fuck-tonne of skeletons.

“There are hundreds up there,” Merlin hissed.

“That’s too many,” Gwaine said.

“Leon! Is there another way?” Arthur asked.

“I’m afraid not, sire,” Leon replied.

“Then we’ll have to keep going,” Arthur said grimly.

Merlin sighed with resignation. He no longer even had the energy for surprise. “Alright,” he said, a new idea striking him all at once. “On my mark, everyone fall behind me. I’ll clear the way.”

No one bothered arguing. Merlin paused to take a deep breath and then brought his hands down to his sides. “Now!”

Percival, Leon, and Elyan fell back, twisting awkwardly to make it behind Merlin in the narrow corridor, jumping to stay ahead of the swords of the oncoming wights. They made it behind Merlin just as the skeletons were getting close enough to impale Merlin with their rusted weapons. And then Merlin sharply raised both hands and uttered a spell that was more yell than incantation, coming from a primal place inside of him. The cobblestones before him rose up from the ground along with sharp shards of rock and then fell in a wave that traveled through the corridor and into the chamber beyond.

The skeletons nearest the beginning of the wave were pulverized by the weight of the stone, and those beyond were knocked down and partially covered in debris.

“Go!” Merlin yelled, but the knights were way ahead of him.

He was shoved aside as Percival took the head of the charge, sword up and ready to swing. By the time Merlin managed to catch his breath Leon, Elyan, and Arthur were already past. He started running with Gwen beside him, and Lancelot and Gwaine guarding their backs.

They made it into the chamber without much trouble, but Merlin could see that his wave hadn’t traveled as far as he’d hoped it would, or that the skeletons were more resilient than he’d prayed for. They made it only halfway to the stairs before they were swarmed by the monsters, and their progress ground to a near-complete halt.

“Rally!” Arthur cried, and the knights made a fine job of it for nearly seven minutes, inching slowly towards the stairway mostly with the help of Percival’s mighty swings. And then the wights grew too thick, and it was all they could do to fend them off, much less move forward.

Merlin did his best to throw rocks at the nearest ones to keep them back, but it was clear to him, if to no one else, that all of their best efforts were useless. He was desperately trying to think of some solution when he heard someone scream in pain and his blood ran cold. One of them had been wounded, or maimed, or killed. Who was it? He couldn’t tell in the chaos. He couldn’t think straight, his vision was hazy, it was too dark. They were going to die - all of them. Arthur-

Merlin was overcome with anguish, and before he realized what was happening he was raising his arms and calling out a single powerful chord with the voices of a thousand fallen sorcerers. There was a boom like the earth had cracked in two, and then darkness.

 

***

 

Merlin awoke slowly to the unpleasant smell of wood smoke and a thudding headache. He supposed that meant he wasn’t quite dead yet. There was a loud buzzing in his ears and his mouth tasted like thousand-year-old ashes. He opened his eyes to the dim warm glow of flames illuminating the chamber and found that his hand was unpleasantly warm. He shifted just enough to see that his arm was resting troublingly close to a small fire, and pulled it to his chest with a displeased hiss.

“You’re awake,” he heard someone say from what seemed like a hundred miles away, and slowly realized it was Gwen. She brought a water skin to his mouth and he drank gratefully for a few long moments.

“Thanks,” he croaked after he was finished and she’d taken it away. He shut his eyes for another minute, and then steeled himself and sat up with a groan. The first thing he noticed was Arthur, looking filthy but unhurt as he paced on the other side of the fire. A worry that he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring left him, and he felt the tightness in his chest ease.

He remembered someone crying out, but- he sighed as he reached out with his magic and felt that everyone in their unfortunate little party was alive and well. Gwen and Lancelot were sitting scandalously close to one another to his left, while Elyan slowly sharpened his sword to Merlin’s right. Leon was sitting across from him while Percival was snoozing away peacefully against a pile of fallen stones, Gwaine wrapped in a cloak and nestled comfortably against his large chest.

“Everyone’s alright, then?” Merlin asked.

“Gwaine got a bit of a scratch and squealed like a stuck pig, but otherwise we’re fine,” Arthur said tensely.

“Hey!” Gwaine called out from her place without bothering to move.

So maybe she and Percival weren’t quite asleep after all, Merlin thought.

“What happened?” Merlin asked.

He could see now that they were in a small room, completely sealed in by a wall of large fallen rocks and smaller pieces of miscellaneous rubble. Here and there pieces of skeletons could be seen poking through the stones. A particularly gangly arm caught under a rock next to Arthur’s foot started to twitch, flexing its finger bones like it was trying to crawl forward. Arthur sighed and stomped on it with his boot, crushing it with a dry crack that made Merlin flinch.

“You brought the whole tunnel down around us and now we’re trapped,” Arthur muttered darkly.

“On the bright side, we’re not dead,” Gwaine said, still not bothering to open her eyes. “And we’ve been commanded by His Highness not to panic quite yet, so we’ve been enjoying a bit of rest.”

“And Gwenivere was so clever to break up some old spears and torch brackets we found in the rubble so we could start a fire,” Lancelot said, his voice dripping with lovesick admiration, “and we’ve cooked up a lovely stew.”

Merlin looked over at the way Lancelot and Gwen were gazing into each other’s eyes with matching dopy grins on their faces and had to look away before his teeth started to ache with the sweetness.

“So, any ideas on what we’re supposed to do now?” Arthur asked testily.

“Clearly we’re supposed to have some stew,” Merlin replied, equally testily. “I hear it’s lovely.” He needed time to think, and lunch was the perfect diversion. His stomach growled in response to the thought, and Elyan handed him a bowl without him even having to ask.

Merlin ate ravenously for a time, and as he felt his strength return his sense of general hopelessness seemed to melt away. Everyone was alive and mostly unhurt, which meant that their chances of at least escaping this mission, if not finishing it, were still rather good. The definition of good being slightly more than zero.

They were trapped, of course, and cut off from their goal. They could figure out where they needed to go and dig out the tunnels if they had the time and supplies to spare, but then they’d be met with the same obstacle that caused them to be trapped in the first place. Then again, just because they were prevented from going forwards, backwards, and sideways, didn’t mean they couldn’t go upwards.

“Sir Leon,” Merlin said, after finishing his second helping of stew.

Leon looked up, looking rather heartbroken. He was no doubt blaming all of their failures on his own actions, as was fitting of a knight of Camelot.

“How far would you say we’ve gone? Are we underneath the castle yet?”

Leon frowned and paused for a while before speaking. “We’ve made it a good distance, but we’re still not quite there. We’re maybe halfway, so far.”

“That would land us straight underneath the enemy camp,” Merlin muttered, mostly to himself. “I’m sure they’ve heard the ruckus going on down here, and they’re not as docile as we’d like them to be. But maybe…” He trailed off, easily falling into the meditative trance that let him feel out the space around them.

Merlin focused on the thick layers of stone and earth that was above them. Leon was right, they were somewhere in the middle of the city of Camelot, just underneath some well-used inn. Merlin could feel Bayard’s soldiers hustling and bustling about, trying to push down their worries about the recent earthquakes and the accompanying roars and cracks.

Bayard’s men were more alert now than they had been in years, and the chances of Arthur’s little troop managing to get through their ranks alive were so close to none that they may as well avoid the trouble of combat and stay in their chamber to suffocate of smoke inhalation.

Merlin sighed deeply and tried to think of another route. It would take a lot of energy and more time than they had, but maybe they could tunnel downwards and backtrack to escape-

Merlin gasped when he let his awareness sink downwards only to be met with a vast dark void. It seemed like a cave, or a network of caves below. It shimmered in his mind’s eye in a way he couldn’t quite explain, but was warm and welcoming rather than threatening. The power of it was familiar, and he realized this was what he’d felt the night before, standing on the ridge. He smiled a little, excited at the prospect of getting to see this strange place, almost glad that they had no other way to go.

“I have an idea,” he said at last, standing with a groan. Arthur stopped his pacing. Gwaine sat up, nudging Percival so he would do the same. Everyone started packing, showing that their previous relaxation had been a farce.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, trying to keep the hopeful eagerness out of his voice and failing.

“If everyone’s ready?” Merlin asked, looking around. Everyone was standing by then. Gwaine was checking the straps of her armor while Percival fixed the drape of his cloak with a yawn. Gwen and Lancelot were holding hands tightly and Elyan was adjusting his sword belt, smiling.

“Stand close,” Merlin said, motioning everyone to get closer to the fire. He waited a moment, and then ducked his head, focusing.

It was a lot easier to indiscriminately wreck up the place in a bright flashy display of power than destroy things with a bit of finesse, but Merlin only focused harder on his goal. The earth began to shake ominously and Merlin frowned, fists clenched as he fought for control.

Gwen gasped, reaching out to hold Elyan’s hand with the one that wasn’t currently occupied by Lancelot. Elyan, in turn, reached out for Arthur, and in a split second they were all holding hands in a circle around the fire - Arthur and Gwaine on either side of Merlin, holding him by the shoulders.

A rock shot out of the ground a few feet outside their circle, and then the hole turned into a crack that started running slowly around them, echoing sharply through the small chamber. Merlin could feel his fingernails cutting into his palms. He gritted his teeth, starting to shake with the effort of it. The crack completed the circle and started to widen. And then the circle of stone they were all standing on began to rotate and sink into the ground. The ceiling of the chamber rumbled ominously, gravel and stone dust coming loose to rain down on their heads. The knights shifted closer together; Lancelot pulled Gwen to him protectively and Merlin could feel Arthur’s hand tighten on his shoulder.

The fire sputtered and flickered in the center of their platform, nearly getting blown out by successive clouds of dust rising from the edges of the circle as they continued to descend. Suddenly Merlin found the going much easier, and when he looked up it was to see that they had broken through the cave ceiling and were now floating downwards into a vast black pit. They were in the cavern below the castle.

A sound like a ghoulish moan echoed through the space, eerie and low.

“What was that?” Percival whispered, awed and somewhat frightened.

“It’s just a draft,” Arthur said confidently, though Merlin could feel his hand tighten slightly where it gripped his shoulder. He heard faint dripping coming from somewhere, and far in the distance a rushing sound like an underground river.

The small campfire continued to sputter, its tiny flame only seeming to emphasize the enveloping darkness around them rather than illuminating it. One more moaning draft and the fire was blown out, still-smoking embers scattered throughout the center of their platform. Merlin slowed their descent, leaving them hovering in mid-air.

He couldn’t help but to peer into the darkness, and was surprised to see that his eyes seemed to be adjusting. There was some sort of glow growing throughout the cavern, and he could just make out the rough shapes of stalactites hanging down from the ceiling, and a few massive stone columns nearby. Everything seemed to be growing brighter and brighter, and then he saw a pinprick of blue light appear in the distance. It wasn’t long before he saw another, and another, and then the whole cavern was erupting in the light of tiny blue stars growing steadily brighter.

Crystals throughout the cave were starting to glow with an inner light, as though welcoming the adventurers among them. A chorus of awed gasps erupted from Gwen and the knights, marveling at the beauty before them. Further ahead Merlin could feel the castle, shining in his mind’s eye with a tracery of strong protection spells, still active after the long years the castle lay empty.

“Where are we?” Gwen asked in a hushed tone as they started floating deeper into the cavern.

“There are legends,” Leon started before breaking off with a quiet chuckle. “But I suppose now that they must be true. Some say that at the start, the Pendragons were just the Penns, a roving band of particularly organized bandits. It wasn’t until they made a pact with dragons that they were able to conquer and hold Camelot. According to the legends, dragons lived below the castle, ready to aid the kingdom at the first sign of trouble. Maybe this is the very cavern from the stories.”

“There’s something up ahead,” Arthur said, pointing. Merlin was the only one that didn’t need to look. He could already feel it, a stone ledge jutting out from the cave wall, leading to a dark hollow where the blue crystals were illuminating the beginning of a staircase leading upwards. They were under the castle.

“Maybe the old kings came down here to speak with the dragons,” Elyan guessed as Merlin took them in for a landing.

It was difficult to maintain the level of control he needed not to crash their platform into the ledge leading to the stairs but he managed it with only a few minor mishaps. He waited for everyone to scramble over before attempting to move himself, and then he nearly fell over into the smoldering wreck of their fire when he tried to both move his feet and keep his floating stone slab steady at the same time. Finally he was on steady ground again, and he released his control on the platform with a gasp. It crashed down to the bottom of the cavern, pulverizing stalagmites on the way down. The sound echoed through the cave, the stones warping it into something distant and sinister. A cloud of dust rose languidly into the air, causing Merlin to break out into a coughing fit before he managed to pull back far enough from the edge.

“Good work, Merlin!” Percival said with a grin, slapping him so strongly on the back it was practically assault.

“The only way now is up,” Arthur said. “Everyone ready?”

Merlin squinted, trying to feel if there was any danger ahead of them in the castle but the protection spells were clouding his sight. He was nervous to walk in blind, but there was no going back now. He spread his fingers wide, casting balls of light that hovered above and ahead of their group.

Merlin finally got a good look at the stairs and frowned. They were steep and narrow, glistening with condensation where the light hit them. Some of the stairs were entirely overtaken with some sort of fungus or moss. Of course there were no guard rails. Forget the wights and the potentially dangerous protection spells in the main part of the castle – they weren’t going to get there because they were going to fall down the stairs and break their necks.

“Leon and I will take the lead,” Arthur said, unfazed. “Then Percival and Elyan; Gwen and Merlin will be next while Gwaine and Lancelot guard our rear. Let’s head up.”

Merlin swallowed nervously, and they started their ascent. After a few near-slips Merlin finally put his hand on the wall to try and help keep his balance. It was slimy and cold, and he shuddered but kept his hand there anyway. A little slime was still better than navigating the stairs without any support.

Their group was tense and silent for a while, moving slowly upwards. Merlin was feeling a bit winded by the time the stairs started to become wider, shallower. The wall was no longer so slimy, the stone felt smoother beneath his fingers, and tiny flecks within caught the light, sparkling. They were no longer walking up a rough mountain stair, but a more elegant passageway with finished walls and comfortably dry steps. They were getting closer to the top.

They emerged into a small room, empty but for two stools by the doorway and a few metal brackets set into the walls meant to hold torches. The brackets were empty, the wall above them marked with soot. Another staircase lead upwards, shrouded in darkness. Arthur held up his hand, signaling for the group to pause while he craned his neck and listened for any hint of danger. Merlin tried to reach out with magic, but found himself still blind.

When they heard nothing they continued. They had walked through a series of passages and chambers before Leon gasped, a smile breaking out over his face.

“I know where we are!” he whispered. “Follow me.”

Moving with purpose now, they made much faster progress. Before long they were out of the lower levels of the castle and stepping out into a furnished hallway. The stone floors were smooth, worn down after many generations of royals and servants alike moving through them. The walls were covered in thick tapestries that looked a bit dull and dusty, but showed no major signs of damage. Small narrow tables, standing waist-high, were set against the walls at regular intervals. Each table had a branching candelabra on it, now unlit.

There was a strange hush in the air, a feeling of expectation like the silence before a deep breath. Merlin’s skin tingled; he felt uneasy. It was as though the castle was a living thing, just waiting for someone to wake it up.

They moved on, each successive corridor getting more and more elaborate as they went deeper into the castle. Soon they were walking through hallways where the flagstones were covered by thick carpets, muffling the sounds of their footsteps and jangling equipment. Some doors stood open, and they could see dark storerooms and chambers within. Everything was orderly, clean but for the thick layer of dust covering every surface. There was no sign of struggle anywhere, it was as though all of the inhabitants had just packed up and left. It was giving Merlin the creeps.

Finally they saw thin white light up ahead, and soon they emerged into a hallway were one wall was lined with tall windows looking out onto the courtyard of the castle. The thick panes of glass were warped and dusty, and still Merlin was relieved to see daylight filtering through. At the back of his mind he’d felt they’d been traipsing around underground for days, but he could now see that it was only approaching sunset.

Dust motes floated in the rays of light, and he felt his mood lighten. The colors of the hanging tapestries and the carpet underfoot seemed brighter, even despite the large patches that had been bleached by the sun. He peered out the window into the courtyard beyond and was hit with an unexpected fit of nostalgia. When he had entered this courtyard for the first time it had been the bustling entrance of a lively household, full of servants and knights and livestock. Now it was a desolate wasteland, empty but for a few upturned baskets and abandoned carts. The time he’d spent in the castle hadn’t exactly been happy, but it had been filled with good people and it hurt to see the place in such disrepair.

“We’re getting close,” Leon said in a half whisper, and Merlin could see that he felt that same nostalgia too.

Arthur’s expression was inscrutable, but Merlin sensed a kind of longing from him. He knew that Arthur could turn this place into something great again, a promise of justice, safety, and peace. In that moment he was seized with the desire to give Camelot to him on a platter, and then the world. He turned to look down the hallway, resolved to complete this quest and whatever else Arthur asked of him.

“Let’s keep going,” he said with a grim smile.

They were nearly at the throne room when trouble finally found them. They turned a corner and pulled up short when they saw two dozen wights standing in the corridor a few feet ahead. The skeletons were standing motionless, as though they’d forgotten where exactly they’d been going mid-stride. They seemed somewhat sad in the dying sunlight, their armor dinged and dusty. Merlin could still make out the Pendragon crest etched into their breastplates. One of them slowly turned its head to look at them, its dry bones creaking with the motion. It moved its body towards them, and all the rest of them broke into motion as well. 

Arthur tensed, bringing his right hand to the pommel of his sword and motioning them back with his left. They hurried to backtrack, the wights following slowly. The jangling of their armor followed, growing fainter as they went.

Leon took them down an alternate path, peering around every corner cautiously before urging them on. A few times they had to backtrack and take alternate paths, but Merlin could tell they were slowly getting closer. Leon peered around the next corner and then quickly flinched back, sighing and shaking his head.

“I think we’re stuck,” he said quietly.

Moving past him, Merlin took a look for himself. The corridor ended in a large light-filled chamber. It was filled with dozens of shambling skeletons, and beyond them stood the tall doors into the throne room. He pulled back to let the others take a peek for themselves. The air felt thicker somehow, now that they were so close to their goal. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up, his skin prickling with goosebumps.

“There’s no back way?” Arthur whispered.

“That was the first way I tried to take us,” Leon answered. “It was blocked as well.”

“Maybe we can get in from underneath?” Gwen asked, looking at Merlin. “Like in the dungeons?”

Merlin shook his head. The castle wards would prevent him from pulling up stones to take a shortcut or even use as missiles against the wights. He looked down the hallway again, the thick tapestries hanging on every wall catching his eye. Despite himself, he started to smile. Maybe there was a way after all.

“There’s no turning back now,” Arthur said slowly. “We’ll have to go through.”

“I think Arthur is right,” Merlin found himself saying. “We don’t have to defeat them all, we just have to make it inside the throne room. Once we’re in we can barricade the doors from the inside. We should be safe.”

“If we do that,” Lancelot said slowly, “how are we going to get out?”

Gwaine smirked and put her arms around Elyan and Lancelot’s shoulders, pulling them in towards her. “One problem at a time lads,” she said, giving them both a tight squeeze. “I’m in. What’s the plan?”

“I have an idea,” Merlin said, eyeing the tapestries on the wall. “I can make a way for us, but we’ll have to move quickly. And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll need to cut our way through.”

Arthur nodded grimly. “Alright. Percival and I will be in front, Leon and Elyan protect our flanks. Merlin is in the center, and the rest protect our backs.” He paused to look all of them in the eyes. “This is it,” he said solemnly, “this is the reason we’re here. I know we’re all exhausted, but one more push and we’re finished. We can do this.”

Gwaine grinned and rooted around in her pockets before producing a large flask. “One for the fallen,” she said, unscrewing it and pouring a small measure out onto the flagstones. “And one for luck,” she said, taking a large swig. She passed it to Percival, who repeated her words before taking a significantly larger swig and passing it down. They all took a drink before it reached Arthur, and Merlin was surprised to see him smile as he took the flask and downed a large portion of whatever spirits were within. Arthur shuddered, fighting hard to keep back a cough, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“For luck,” he said, looking Merlin in the eye as he passed the flask to him. Merlin took it, shivered a little as he felt a spark pass between their fingers. He took a large swig and felt fortified as the liquor burned hot down his throat and into his belly. He didn’t feel drunk, not on so little and so soon, but he felt braver somehow, maybe more from the ritual of it than the spirits themselves. He handed the flask back to Gwaine to put away and looked back to the hallway, getting ready to let his magic loose.

“Get ready,” he said, wrapping his mental hold around the thick tapestries hanging on the walls. “Go!”

He pulled the tapestries off their hooks, whipping them forward ahead of their party, and then spreading them apart against the thick groups of wights in the antechamber, creating a passageway. The knights rushed in as the skeletons struggled against their bonds and blades started to pierce through the thick ornate fabric. Gwen yelped as a sword came within a hair-breadth of slashing her neck and Merlin gritted his teeth and spread his arms. With a burst of power the tapestries pushed farther away from each other, creating a wider passage. There was a faint clacking of bones and armor colliding into each other.

They were nearly at the doors when the first couple of skeletons managed to break through the barrier of the tapestries, bursting through the fabric to block their way.

Percival yelled and smacked two skeletons out of the way with a mighty swing of the flat of his sword. Arthur and Leon covered the other side, clearing the way for their charge. Wights were breaking through the tapestries behind them as well, but Gwaine, Lancelot, and Elyan managed to keep them back. The skeletons seemed less motivated than they had in the dark of the catacombs. Something was making them hesitate, but Merlin didn’t have the time to spare to figure out what it was. 

Percival had reached the doors and was trying to shove them open, straining under their weight. Leon joined them as Arthur kept vigilant watch, sword out before him. The doors refused to budge, and more and more skeletons kept breaking through the tapestries.

Merlin furrowed his brow, concentrating, and whispered a spell that flung the heavy doors to the throne room wide open. A loud bang reverberated through the castle as the doors slammed into the wall inside the throne room, and then started to drift closed again.

The group rushed through, Merlin bringing up the rear this time. He slammed the tall doors shut with another incantation, and Percival held them closed while Leon went to pull over the thick bar to barricade them in. It fell into the holders with a heavy thunk, and they all stepped away from the door, listening fearfully. The wights were scraping at the door from the other side. Occasionally it thumped as they tried to break through, but after a few minutes the door remained un-breached.

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief and the sentiment spread through their group. Finally sure they were safe for the moment, Merlin turned around. The throne room seemed impossibly vast, the high vaulted ceilings creating a feeling of space most indoor rooms lacked. The entire wall to his left was lined with tall windows, their panes still mostly clear and unbroken, letting in the red glow of the setting sun. The other wall was decorated by regularly-spaced soot-stained niches featuring heavy elaborate candelabras, empty of candles. Between the niches hung portraits of Kings long past, faded with dust and neglect.

The carpet leading up to the throne was a faded red, bunched as though fleeing feet had mussed it long ago, but still somehow regal. The gold embroidery on the edges still caught the light where the dust wasn’t too thick. And at the top of the royal dais-

Merlin wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been for Arthur to have been right. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the throne at the far end of the room, Excalibur protruding majestically from the stone before it, caught in a particularly pointed beam of sunlight from the windows. No one else seemed to be particularly surprised, and Merlin was struck anew by the loyalty of this group.

The banging at the door seemed to fade away as Arthur walked towards the sword as if in a dream. Merlin watched with bated breath as Arthur reached out to wrap his fingers around the golden grip. There was a moment of perfect stillness as Arthur stood, eyes wide, staring at his own hand on the sword as if in disbelief and uncertainty. Merlin saw the exact moment when determination filled Arthur’s eyes and, with his lips drawn into a firm line he _pulled_.

Merlin was expecting some sort of resistance, magical or otherwise, but the sword slid out of the stone as smoothly as if it were sliding out of a pat of butter. As soon as it was free a faint ringing filled the air, reverberating off the stone walls and ceiling of the throne room. Merlin exhaled a sigh of relief without realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Arthur stared at the sword in wonder, holding it high where it caught the light of the dying sun, a smile starting to spread over his lips. The knights broke out in cheers. Gwen laughed, blushing as Lancelot picked her up and spun her around. Even Merlin found himself smiling as he took in their joy.

“Good work, I was starting to get bored,” said a distinctly female voice.

Merlin nearly jumped with surprise, craning his head around to see where the voice was coming from.

A tall, distinctly female silhouette stepped out of the shadows near the entrance. Merlin squinted to try and get a better view, simultaneously opening himself up to try and sense the identity of the intruder. He felt a slick oiliness similar to that of the weights, and frowned as the figure stepped into the light.

“Merlin, my dear, I knew keeping an eye on you would pay off,” she said. She was tall, wreathed in a loose dark robe. Her long brown hair framed her face and fell past her shoulders nearly to her hips. She was beautiful, with soft feminine features; and yet, there was something dead about her eyes that made her seem cold and sinister.

Arthur frowned, lowering Excalibur. The majesty of the moment was ruined. The knights shifted behind him uncertainly.

“Well, hello there,” Gwaine said. Her voice was not nearly as jolly as usual. Her hand drifted to the hilt of her sword in suspicion. “Did we invite anyone else to this party?”

Merlin’s eyebrows drew down into a frown of recognition. “Nimueh,” he said, greeting her for the first time in years.

“You haven’t forgotten me!” she exclaimed in mock delight.

“If you’ve come for the sword-“ he said, only to be interrupted by Nimueh’s sharp laughter.

“Goddess, you’re still the same fool you were when you were a child,” she said. “It was never about the sword, Merlin. Surely you’ve realized that by now.”

“What are you talking about?” Merlin asked, uncertain.

“The sword was just something to keep you distracted, dear,” Nimueh said. She tilted her head slightly to the side, her voice condescending and cruel as she continued. “Forging a sword, fulfilling your duty- those were only excuses that a child and his half-wit mother could understand. The only thing I ever needed you for was your power. Without it I couldn’t complete my spell to bring the coming of the Once and Future King. But of course when it came time to harvest you, you were nowhere to be found.”

Merlin had long suspected that Nimueh had been lying to him about what she’d wanted from him, but at the back of his mind he’d needed to believe that the upheaval and sudden end of his childhood had been for some noble cause. Finding out the truth was like an old wound suddenly ripped open.

“I thought you’d ruined everything for me that day,” Nimueh continued. “But the spell was already cast, and in absence of your sacrifice the Old Religion took its own price. Rather than taking your life and magic, the old religion drew energy from years of war and thousands of common deaths, until there was finally enough power to bring the spell to completion. And so the King was born at last, though he proved impossible for me to find.” She paused, looking off into the distance.

With every word she said Merlin grew angrier and angrier. Sparks were flying around his clenched fists. The sun finally set, leaving only its red afterglow on the clouds to light the chamber.

“I nearly killed you, when we had to escape this castle,” Nimueh said, almost as an afterthought. ”But I had a feeling you could be useful to me once more, and here we are.”

“What do you want?” Merlin asked, more demand than question. The air was heavy with magic; goosebumps rose on his skin.  Arthur stepped forward to stand beside him, the other knights and Gwen following his lead.

Nimueh seemed unconcerned at their united front. “I want what I’ve always wanted: the Once and Future King. And thanks to you, here he is- the great Arthur!” She laughed again. “He will raise magic users to their proper place. No more groveling at the feet of kings and queens, no more sisters and brothers burnt at the stake. We’ll show them who has the real power, and we’ll do it at the end of a blade.” The smile that spread over her face then was brittle and sharp.

“I won’t let you use him, Nimueh,” Merlin said.

She shrugged, still smiling. “I thought you knew me, Merlin. I’m not here to fight. I’m here because I’ve already won.” She cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes as she focused on Arthur. “I have my mark on him. He’s already mine.”

She pursed her lips in the mockery of a kiss, and then her eyes glowed gold as she beckoned to Arthur with one dark-painted nail. “Come here, darling,” she crooned, and Arthur started to walk towards her.

Merlin turned his head sharply to stare in surprise. Arthur’s eyes were glowing gold in response to Nimueh’s call, his face vacant of any emotion. Merlin gaped in shock- how was she doing this? And then it all came to him in a rush. The banquet at the end of Cenred’s tournament, the maidservant in the blue scarf, leaning over to Arthur, whispering something in his ear. The dazed look in Arthur’s eyes. It must have been then, it must have been her. Nimueh had been there from the beginning, pulling all their strings.

“Arthur!” Gwen cried out, rushing forward to grab him by the upper arm. He swatted her away with one powerful blow, knocking her to the floor. She cried out in pain and shock but Arthur didn’t seem to hear; he was still walking away from them. Elyan and Lancelot rushed to help her up, staring at Arthur in a mixture of shock and betrayal.

Merlin reached for him with his magic, but felt him wreathed in the same oily power as Nimueh and the wights. He growled in frustration.

With Arthur nearly at her side, Merlin had to act quickly before Arthur was too close. He gathered the power swirling around him. The sparks around his fists lengthened into strips, the air seemed to thicken. He directed all of his rage at Nimueh, channeling a huge bolt of lighting straight at her smile.

There was a deafening boom of thunder and a flash of light so bright that for a moment Merlin thought he’d gone blind. Then he was engulfed in agony. He screamed, falling to his knees. He clutched at his chest to try and stop what felt like a dozen swords penetrating him over and over. He couldn’t think straight. He clawed at his clothing as he tried to see what was happening to him. He was burning, bleeding, his skin was surely peeling off. He got his shirt open at last and stared in horror at his untainted chest. The only thing he saw was the old Pendragon Crest tattoo, slightly redder than he remembered, the skin marked only by his own nails and nothing more.

“Did you really think I would come here if you could hurt me?” Nimueh asked mildly.

By then Arthur was standing beside her, eyes vacant and dull; he was just a hollow vessel filled with Nimueh’s power. He still gripped Excalibur in his hand, but now it no longer seemed like a promise, but rather a threat. 

Feeling entirely helpless for the first time in many years Merlin stared up at them through watering eyes. By some unspoken command the knights were forming up around him, spreading out into a wide arc to flank Nimueh as they slowly advanced. Gwen was up too, holding her bow tightly, her hands shaking and her knuckles white. They weren’t giving up, and neither was he. He forced himself to stand, twitching as aftershocks of pain quaked through him.

Now that he knew to pay attention he could feel the faint thread of power connecting him to Nimueh, shielding her from his attacks. Maybe he couldn’t hurt her directly, but he could work around that limitation like he had with the wights.

Nimueh’s eyes narrowed as she saw them getting ready for a fight. “I only want Arthur. Stop before you get hurt,” she said.

“That doesn’t really sound like something we’d do,” Gwaine replied lightly.

Merlin twitched his fingers, pulling two tapestries off the wall and swirling them around Nimueh. The knights took this as their cue and broke into a sprint, coming for her. Merlin could hear her growl of annoyance as she raised her hands to set the tapestries aflame in midair. While she was distracted he pulled one of the heavy candelabras out of its niche and sent it flying at her head.

She must have seen or felt it right before it hit her and shouted a short phrase in an attempt to deflect it, but by then it was already too close. A killing blow turned into a glancing hit to her shoulder but the impact was strong enough for her to recoil and hiss in pain. When she looked up it was to see Percival bearing down on her, his sword raised. She threw out her hand, sending him flying through the air. But that was no reprieve, as Leon and Gwaine were right behind him.

Elyan was finally close enough to Arthur to grab him by the arm, trying to pull him away from the sorceress. Arthur shook him off, raising Excalibur for a fight. His movements were stilted and slow, and Merlin knew he was trying to fight Nimueh’s hold. Elyan fought back, dancing out of Arthur’s reach to try and draw him away. Arthur refused to be engaged, sticking stubbornly to Nimueh’s side.

Leon yelled as he swung his sword, Gwaine right beside him. Nimueh screamed, bringing her hands together over her chest. A cage of crackling lighting materialized around her and Arthur, then expanded out into the room stunning the knights and throwing them backwards before their swords connected. Merlin just barely managed to throw up a shield, arms crossed before him as the lightning cage hit his barrier with a boom and a shower of white sparks. The only ones close enough to share in his protection were Lancelot and Gwen. Threads of lightning ran up the walls and dissipated in the ceiling and through the windows. Silence and darkness stole over the room.

Nimueh panted, staring at them. Only Lancelot was left in front of her, staring her down with his sword out before him. She grimaced. Her hair was out of place, her skin glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. She was deterred but not defeated.

She raised her hand, fingers quivering. Gwen loosed an arrow. It streaked unerringly towards Nimueh’s heart, only to disintegrate before meeting her flesh. With a loud groan the bar blocking the door rose, and the door into the chamber creaked open. Merlin watched in horror as skeletons started to shuffle in, lining the walls of the throne room. Nimueh met his eyes, smiling thinly.     

Gwen loosed three arrows in quick succession, trying to keep Nimueh distracted while Lancelot charged. Nimueh disintegrated the first, ducked the second. Lancelot scored a glancing hit on her upper arm before she managed to fling him away. The third arrow embedded itself in her upper thigh and she staggered backwards. She brought the fingers of her right hand into a tight fist, and Gwen collapsed onto the ground with a yelp, the bow tumbling out of her slack fingers.

“I didn’t come here to be defeated,” Nimueh hissed, truly angry now. Only Merlin was left standing to face her wrath. “I gave you a chance to leave, but now you will die. Come, Arthur,” she said as she started backing away towards the main exit from the room.

Arthur obeyed with halting footsteps as Merlin watched helplessly.

His hopes and dreams disintegrated with every step they took towards the door, every effort turned into a foolish grasp at greatness. All he’d ever wanted was to serve a just and honest king, and now that last desire was being stolen from him by a selfish sorceress. Merlin found himself thinking of every violation Nimueh had forced on him, and then, oddly, of the kiss he and Arthur had shared on the ridge. Merlin frowned, gathering whatever strength he had left. He wouldn’t let a witch dictate his destiny, and he knew that Arthur wouldn’t either. Arthur would fight to his last breath. Grasping for the last hope he had left, Merlin searched for the thin string of power that connected him to Nimueh. He concentrated all of his magic and expended the last of his strength to send a shock of lighting down that strand.

Merlin’s vision went white. His legs gave way and he fell to his knees, the physical pain of colliding with the cobblestones was insignificant compared to the pain of the scalding magic running through his veins. The world fell into a cold silence that was soon disrupted by Nimueh’s sharp scream. Merlin could only watch, woozy, as she stumbled and fell, bringing her hands up to clutch at her head. Arthur staggered too, but at the last moment he managed to stand firm. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and when he looked up his eyes were blue and clear once again. He turned on her at last, holding Excalibur loosely at his side.

For the first time Nimueh seemed scared. She looked up at Arthur, her eyes wide. She brought her arm up to shield her face, flinching away from his wrath.

“Stop!” she exclaimed as he raised his sword. “The wights obey me! If you kill me they will destroy you all!”

“They obey their king,” Arthur said, his voice cold and resigned. Nimueh’s eyes glowed as she began another spell, but Arthur was faster. He plunged Excalibur through her heart.

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then she screamed. Golden light spilled out of her eyes and mouth, so bright that Merlin had to turn away. Time slowed to a crawl. He felt her death as an unnatural stillness in the world suddenly broken. Her body crumpled to the ground.

Merlin looked up slowly, his ears ringing. They were surrounded by skeletons, and the clanking of their dry bones against armor as they began to shuffle forward uncertainly.

“Stop,” Arthur said, his voice quiet with fatigue. They did.

It was a struggle to get to his feet, but Merlin managed it at last. He made his way over to Arthur, pulling the young king into his arms. Excalibur clanged to the ground as Arthur released his hold on the weapon to return Merlin’s embrace.

Shock wore away into something more real and present, and Merlin found tears falling down his cheeks.

Somewhere Percival groaned, coming to.

“Are we dead?” Gwaine asked in a tremulous voice from across the room.

Slowly the knights and Gwen came into wakefulness, and Merlin’s tears turned to laughter. They had all pulled through. And now Albion was theirs for the taking.

 

***

 

It was a long, dark, and weary trudge through the castle to find a suitable room to hole up in and get some rest for the night. The trek was made even more unnerving by the wights filling the halls, staring at Arthur with their empty eye sockets. They made no move against the group now, though Merlin was still very much on edge. The only one that seemed to share his unease was Gwen, who scanned the halls around them as though she was expecting something to jump out at them at any minute. Lancelot reached over and took her hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze. He didn’t let go after, and Merlin couldn’t help but smile.

Leon led them confidently through the nicer parts of the castle. He was clutching his arm to his chest as if it pained him, but there was still some new spring in his step. Elyan and Arthur walked close together, as though trying to reconcile after their brief battle. Arthur was dragging his feet, no doubt weary to the bone, but he still held Excalibur tightly in his hand as if it was a talisman against the dark. Gwaine and Percival brought up the rear, whispering and giggling with each other. Gwaine had twisted her ankle so she had her arm wrapped around Percival’s shoulder, ostensibly to help her walk. With their height difference she was practically dangling off of Percival, her feet only barely brushing the ground.

After what seemed like ages to Merlin’s exhausted mind, but was probably more like a few minutes, they reached a tastefully ornamented door. Leon paused and looked around nervously before opening it.

"This was the Prince’s chamber, before,” he said.

As they walked into the lavish apartments Merlin cast a few globes of light ahead of them to light the way. Every surface was covered in a thick layer of dust. It was the work of a moment to blow open the shutters and cast the dust out into the night. A lonesome goblet toppled over in the gale, making some of the knights jump in alarm. Other than the clear disuse, the chamber seemed perfectly comfortable.

Elyan barred the door while the rest of them started to explore. Merlin cast some fire into the hearth, filling the room with a soft warm light.

By some unspoken agreement Percival and Leon dragged blankets and pillows off the large bed to pile them before the fire. Gwen, yawning, set about to tending the various hurts of their companions. Arthur seemed subdued as he moved to gaze out the now open window. Merlin walked over to stand next to him, and after a moment of hesitation he carefully put his arm on Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur was trembling, his body tense as he stared out into the night. Merlin ran his thumb over the back of Arthur's neck, a quick caress, and Arthur leaned closer.

From the tower window they could see parts of the military camp. Bayard's forces seemed to be in disarray. A few houses were ablaze in the city, along with a good number of tents in the camp beyond. It was possible that the earlier earthquake or the tremors from Merlin's and Nimueh's battle had caused lanterns to fall and break, or torches to get knocked over. The fires were an ominous backdrop to the figures running to and fro, some trying to fight the flames while most were simply running away. Clearly, whatever they had felt or seen that night had scared them enough to leave their posts.

Merlin briefly thought of encouraging them; either by summoning lighting or turning the already existing flames green or purple to scare the soldiers even further. But in the end he was much too drained, and they were safe enough for the night.

"What am I supposed to do now, Merlin?" Arthur asked, his voice so quiet it was nearly a whisper. 

Merlin squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "I think we should listen to Gwaine for once, and take it one problem at a time."

 

**Epilogue – Spring**

*******

 

Merlin gritted his teeth as he raised the last stone into its place in the wall. A muttered spell made its edges melt, fusing with the rest of the wall with a low hiss. When he was sure that it was firmly in place Merlin let his magic fade and stepped back, wiping his sweaty brow with the end of his sleeve. He squinted against the glare of the sun as he inspected his work.

Two weeks in and he was finally finished with the main repairs to the castle walls. A few skeletons shambled slowly past him, carrying debris. Arthur had first sent them beyond the walls to disperse Bayard’s sitting army, but by then most of the troops had already deserted their posts. Still, their generals could march them back any day, and Merlin had taken it upon himself to strengthen their defenses against that eventuality.

The wights were slightly comical in the bright light of day. Despite the fact that their skulls showed no emotion, they seemed oddly content to be put to work at Arthur’s bidding. They had been gladly clearing rubble ever since Arthur had thought to ask it of them. Merlin could have sworn he’d once come upon two of the skeletons having a friendly tousle before they noticed him and returned to their work.

When he wasn’t busy trying to fix the walls he was looking for a way to lay them to rest, but he couldn’t deny how helpful they were when they weren’t trying to murder him.

Hoof-beats approached from behind him, and he turned to see Gwaine and Percival riding towards him, Gwaine holding the reigns of a third horse, already saddled.

“Merlin!” she called, waving.

Merlin frowned. His first instinct was to worry. Gwaine was clearly in a good mood and seemed unalarmed, but that didn’t mean there was nothing to worry about.

“What is it?” Merlin asked once they were close.

“Someone’s at the city gates,” Percival said, reigning up.

“Bayard sent an envoy?”

“Nah,” Gwaine said, waving her hand dismissively. “Looks like two old men. Arthur sent me to get you. He Leon and Elyan will meet us there.”

“Alright,” Merlin said, his suspicions still not completely put to rest.

They made good time through the streets, the wights had made a lot of progress clearing the main thoroughfares of the city, though beyond the main road, much of Camelot was still in ruins. Bayard had done a lot of damage during his initial invasion before Nimueh had raised the wights and drove him out. The intervening years of occupation and neglect hadn’t helped either. Large areas had been completely wiped out with fire. The buildings that still stood were in bad shape, what was left of their roofs sagging and their walls on the verge of crumbling.

Finally they were within sight of the destroyed city gates. Merlin could make out two silhouettes atop the gate - Gwen and Lancelot, keeping watch. And beyond the gate, two figures standing just beyond the city border. The figures seemed harmless enough. One of them was stooped over, hanging onto a thick staff, while the other stood proudly, his long white hair catching the sun as it played in the breeze.

There seemed to be no reason for caution, but nevertheless Merlin motioned for Gwaine to fall back as he dismounted and strode forward, twisting his fingers as he brought his magic close to the surface, ready to respond quickly if needed.

The man with the long hair raised his hand slowly in greeting. Merlin squinted, trying to make out his features. Something about the man was familiar, and it was enough to encourage him to step closer.

“Merlin,” the man said in greeting. His voice struck a chord of recognition, and Merlin found himself smiling.

“Gaius?” he asked, already knowing it to be true. He finally stepped out beyond the gate to see his old mentor before him. Gaius was dressed in a worn and patched robe, the hem dirty and fraying. He looked much older than he had when Merlin had seen him last, but his crooked smile and arched eyebrows were unmistakable.

“Gaius!” Merlin cried out as he rushed to embrace him.

“Merlin, my dear,” Gaius said, wrapping his arms around Merlin.

Merlin buried his face in the man’s shoulder, taking in the musty smell of him. He hadn’t thought that Gaius would still be alive and he was taken over by joy.

“It’s good to see you,” Merlin said, finally drawing away.

Gaius’ friend cleared his throat pointedly, and Merlin finally looked over at him, blushing a little. “Hello?” he said.

“This is my good friend Geoffrey,” Gaius said, patting Merlin on the shoulder. “He was court historian, back when there was a court.”

“Welcome,” Merlin said, nodding.

Hoof beats announced the arrival of Arthur, Leon, and Elyan, and Merlin reluctantly stepped away from his old friend and mentor.

“Your Grace,” Geoffrey murmured, bowing as low as his old bones allowed.

“Your Grace,” Gaius echoed with a similarly labored bow.

Arthur dismounted slowly, uneasy at being addressed as king.

“What is your business here?” he asked stiffly.

“We came to pay our respects, Your Grace,” Gaius said, straightening. Geoffrey straightened as well, his back popping obscenely as he did so.

 “Lord Gaius, Lord Geoffrey,” Leon said, nodding.

"You know these men, Leon?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, Sire,"

"Then welcome," Arthur said, addressing Gaius and Geoffrey directly. He dismounted his horse and took a few steps closer.

"We came as soon as we heard the king had returned to Camelot, Your Grace," Gaius said.

"We'd like to offer our service," Geoffrey said, "and this." He rummaged around in his bag for a moment, and then drew out a gold circlet, holding it carefully with both hands. It caught the light, nearly blinding Merlin with its glow. It was simple, completely unadorned on the outside while the inside was inscribed with magical runes of protection, wisdom, and strength. 

"King Uther's crown was lost of course," Geoffrey continued, "but I managed to take this with me when I fled. This is the original crown of the Pendragons, made by the Druids for the first King of Camelot. Now it is yours."

Arthur stared at the gold ring, speechless.

"I crowned Uther, in his time," Geoffrey said. "And his father before him. But now the bloodlines are broken, and we have a new king, and the honor of the coronation should go to someone new as well." At this Geoffrey turned to Merlin, and offered the crown to him.

No one moved or said anything for a long moment. Elyan broke the silence, whistling loudly and waving for Gwen and Lancelot to come down from the gate and join the rest of them.

Merlin reached out slowly, and took the crown. It sang in his hands with the power of the Old Religion, so loudly that he could almost see all of the kings that had come before.

"Uh," Arthur began. "I'm not quite sure what to say." He met Merlin's gaze, eyes wide and helpless.

"I think you say that you accept," Merlin said with a smile.

Gwen and Lancelot reached the ground, and the group formed a loose circle around Arthur and Merlin, Gaius and Geoffrey stepping back to join the ring. Arthur stepped forward and knelt on the ground, his eyes never leaving Merlin's.

Merlin took a deep breath, and letting the crown guide his words, began the oath. "Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Camelot, and the dominions thereto belonging, according to the laws and customs of the same?"

"I do," Arthur said.

"Do you promise to use your power for the causes law and justice, and with mercy to be executed in all your judgments?"

"I do."

“Do you promise to fight for prosperity and peace for all those who bow to your kingship?”

“I do.”

 "Then I crown you King Arthur, rightful King of Camelot." Merlin gingerly placed the crown upon Arthur's head.

And there, beneath the gate to his ruined city, surrounded by rubble and long-dead wights and his most loyal supporters, Arthur stood a king. He looked around the circle of those gathered around him with a soft smile.

“Now we can begin.”

 

_-fin._

__


End file.
